Firestarter: One Possible Future
by Leen713
Summary: Set after Firestarter: Rekindled so SPOILERS for movies and book. Charlie's heading east to escape her past, but her future may be more dangerous than she was told. Crossover with BtVS and X-Men and others. Complete. Part 1 of 3.
1. Prologue

Author's note:  This story begins shortly after the events of the movie "Firestarter 2."  If you haven't seen the movie, then beware of spoilers!  This fan fiction is also a prequel story to the X-Men crossovers I'm currently working on (set about 25 years before the events of X1 and X2).  Please let me know what you think!  :-)

Prologue

            Charlie McGee had every intention of taking that bus the whole way to Canada.  

            She had deliberately chosen this route, as the bus scheduled showed very few stops between Denver and the Great Lakes.  She did not want to go directly north from Colorado.  They might be expecting that, considering she had no idea how much Richardson had told Rainbird and his associates about her future plans.

            Well...at least she did not have to worry about Rainbird anymore.  And, neither did Richardson...wherever he was now.

            Charlie leaned her head back against her seat and stared out of her window.  They were in Iowa now, and the rolling green fields of corn and wheat had not changed much since they left Lincoln and cross the Nebraska border.  There was only one more stop, in Des Moines, before the bus headed for Chicago.  Then, it would continue west, straight on through Michigan before ending in Toronto.

            Richardson had said she would end up in Canada...in a little cabin surrounded by snow, and she believed him, even though he had betrayed her.  Richardson had visions, the past, present and future all at once, and he did not bother to lie about what he saw.  He had not believed he could change the events he knew must happen, so what was the point in lying about them.

            But, Charlie wondered how true that was.  How did he know he could not change it if he had never tried?  

            Oh, well...that did not matter now.  All that mattered was running, going north, going somewhere cold and snowy so she could forget about Richardson and Rainbird and fire and Lot Six and Vincent...

            Charlie choked down tears against her dry throat.  It was not fair.  Vincent had just wanted to help her...help the other lives Systems Operations had destroyed.  He had been good, honest, she trusted him...maybe loved him.  And, she had hoped, he might have loved her, too.  She had been alone for so long, his simple kindness and friendship had been like rain for her after a long drought...

            But, now Vincent was dead.  Rainbird had killed him to provoke her into doing what he wanted...and she had.  She had helped decimate a small town, and any hope of a different future had died with Vincent.

            And, now Rainbird was dead, too.  She had made sure of that, letting his ashes run through her hands after she destroyed him.  He had been trying to create a god...and all he created were monsters like himself.

            _Monsters_, Charlie thought, this time letting a few tears fall, _Is that what I am?  Is that what those other children are?  They've never really given us a name.  What do you call people who can do the things we can do?_

            She did not know, and she did not care.  Now, all she cared about was disappearing.  Getting to where she could be alone, where she could hide, where she could never hurt anyone else again.

            The bus rolled on, the days and nights passed in a blur.  Charlie did not mind.  She did not want to think clearly, out of fear for her memories of the past week...the past year...her whole life.  

            As the signs directing the bus to Des Moines became more frequent, Charlie closed her eyes.  She hoped she did not dream.

            She really did not want to set the bus on fire if she had a nightmare.


	2. Chapter One: The Watchers

Author's note:  This story is part of a larger crossover saga archived here at fanfic.net.  This is set directly after the events of Firestarter 2, but also about 20-odd years before BtVS season one and the X-Men movies.  Also a few other Stephen King references...just to keep it interesting.

***

Chapter One:

            "Hey, Jay!" Ethan Raine called across the room, "I think you should take a look at this, mate!"

            Jeremiah Malloy, known as Jay to most of his friends, glanced up from the text he had been studying with annoyance.

            "What is it, Ethan?" he asked, "I'm in the middle of reading the Golthian chants and..."

            "Sod the bloody chants and come here!" Ethan replied, an amused tone in his voice.

            Jay Malloy rolled his eyes and stood up from his desk.  They were in one of the Council of Watchers' immense libraries, but luckily at this time of night, there were very few other students around to be bothered by Ethan's shouts.

            As Jay wandered over to him, Ethan glanced backward over his chair and grinned.

            "D'you watch the news tonight?" he asked and Jay shook his head.

            "No, why?" he replied and then smirked, "Did that anchor woman swear again or something?"

            Ethan chuckled, "No, sorry to say not.  But you may find this as entertaining..."

            He was sitting in front of a large screen, below which was a variety of accessories, including a keyboard and a VCR.  Ethan held a remote control in front of him, and wound the tape he had been watching back for a while before hitting play again.

            The scene that suddenly appeared on the screen was chaotic.  A small town was smoldering, and the surviving residents were wandering around in a daze as clusters of reporters tried to speak with them.

            Taking up most of the camera's view was a playboy-style journalist, who seemed more interested in having his face on television than capturing the story around him.  Jay frowned as the reporter began to speak.

            "...as the tragedy struck.  Unfortunately, the people of River Mead were completely unprepared for the unexplained explosions that rocked their small town.  Eye witness accounts are varied, and the possible death toll is still being counted.  What most residents do agree on, however, is that most of the casualties were not caused by the fires..."

            Jay was frowning deeply when Ethan glanced up at him again.  

            "Bloody weird, eh?" Ethan asked.  His face did not reflect the concerned tone of his voice.

            "Yeah," Jay mumbled, and pulled up a chair next to his classmate, "Where is this town?"

            "Colorado," Ethan replied, "They said the fires started night before last, but no one is sure how.  The buildings just started blowin' up."

            Jay sat back in his seat and folded his arms.

            "So, mysterious destruction in some small town and you're all over it, right?" he said with a smirk, "Did anybody from the Council say anything about it yet?"

            Ethan shook his head, "Nah, just caught my eye on the news is all."

            "And you're just _wishing_ for demons," Jay replied, "Any excuse to get into the field with the Watchers..."

            "Better than sittin' here among the books," Ethan said with a sigh, "Even Ripper's been buckling down lately with his studying.  This place is becoming too sodding dull.  At least in the States we wouldn't have the Council elders keeping an eye on us all the time.  I mean, you're a bloody American...don't you miss it there at all?"

            Jay shrugged, "You haven't seen dull until you see where I'm from.  Nebraska really isn't the most exciting place.  Why don't you put in a transfer to the New York chapter or something if you find us so boring..."

            Ethan laughed, "The Council doesn't trust me going to London for a day, let alone New York.  Oh, well...I've still got those spells I'm working on..."

            "And you wonder why they keep an eye on you?" Jay said, and then glanced at the screen again, "Do you really think they'll send a team out there?  Seems like something worth looking into..."

            Ethan shrugged, "Who knows.  Anyway, Jay, I'm gonna head out.  The stacks are starting to close in on me.  G'night."

            "Yeah, you too," Jay said and gave Ethan one quick wave as he left.  He sat forward and rewound the tape.  He hit play but ignored the chattering reporter.  Jay watched the people in the background carefully.  They looked dazed, as if nothing around them was real anymore.

            Jay watched the tape again.  Behind the reporter's left elbow, he noticed one man being lead down the street by two others.  The first man kept pointing to the air in front of him and shouting, and though Jay could not hear his words, the look of fear on his face spoke volumes.

            At another camera angle, a fire fighter was kneeling in front of a woman who had collapsed on the street.  Her eyes were blank, and as the reporter walked passed them, Jay could make out a brief part of her words.

            "Some say the world will end in fire," she was saying, "Some say in ice...some say in fire... some say in ice..."

            _Robert Frost_, Jay thought, recognizing the words as a verse of poetry he had read once.

            He rewound the tape once more, and when he hit play, he watched the video in a different way...through another set of eyes...

            Jeremiah Malloy had always been gifted with a second sight.  He was able to see and sense ghosts and other beings...a talent valued by the Council, but one he was always hesitant to use.

            As he stared at the screen, other images began to appear among the survivors...images of the dead...

            "Jeremiah?" a voice suddenly called to him, and Jay blinked in surprise.

            He glanced over and saw Quintin Travers standing nearby with his hands behind his back.  Travers was one of the Council elders (rumor had it he was vying for the head chair), and he smiled at Jay Malloy politely.

            "Mr. Travers," Jay replied, "I'm sorry...I didn't see you standing there..."

            "That's quite alright," Travers replied, "I have not been here long."

            Travers walked around the desk and frowned at the monitor curiously.

            "Well," he said, "It seems Mr. Raine has been following the media again.  Luckily, this incident in Colorado is what I'm here to speak to you about."

            Jay looked surprised, "The Council is aware of this then...of what happened in that town..."

            "My boy," Travers said, "There is little we are not aware of.  And, it has been decided that intervention by the Council may be warranted in this situation."

            "So they have some idea of what happened?" Jay asked, sounding a little more anxious than he would have liked, but Travers simply smiled again.

            "Purhaps..." he replied, "We would like you to come to the Council chamber tomorrow, Jeremiah.  There may be a need to investigate the events in that town...and we may have several students to accompany the Watcher team.  It would be very good experience for those who are chosen to go.  I suppose you would be interested in such an opportunity?"

            "Yes," Jay replied quickly, "Yes, sir, of course."

            "Excellent," Travers said, "Be there by nine o'clock.  Travel plans will be decided quickly, so don't be late."

            "No, sir," Jay said, grinning slightly as the elder man exited the library.

            Out of all the training Watchers, Jay Malloy was one of the youngest, barely twenty-three years old, but his family had a long history with the Council and many of his ancestors had been successful Watchers.  In fact, his little brother Sebastian was already being looked at to begin training.  Most students of the Council began their schooling when they were very young, though not typically with field assignments.

            If he did get to accompany the team to Colorado, his friends (Ethan being the first) would never let him live it down.  

            _River Mead, Colorado_, Jay thought, grinning as he packed up his books, _Hope you're more interesting than my little town of __Gatlin__..._


	3. Chapter Two: Stryker

Chapter Two:

            _"As of today, the gun and bomb are obsolete," Joel Lowen, CEO of Systems Operations said confidently, "Welcome to warfare in the 21st century."_

_            Lowen glanced around at the men in the room and smiled.  There were representatives here from several large weapons manufactures and from the __U.S.__ military.  He was pleased by the turnout, and now that Project Radiant Thunder was about to get underway, his worries about Charlie McGee...and Rainbird's sanity...were minor issues before the profit he saw in his future._

_            "What we'll see tonight," he continued, "...is a coordinated attack on a single standing structure.  In this case, a bank.  Any other weapons system would result in unacceptable civilian casualties.  Our operatives will achieve their goal with no collateral damage and complete deniability..._"

            As Colonel William Stryker sat listening to Lowen's sales pitch, he had been doubtful of the man's assurances about Project Radiant Thunder.

            He did not doubt Lowen's words anymore.

            Stryker walked through the ruins of River Mead, regarding the destruction around him with calm indifference.  Civilians and police officers, as well as many firefighters, were running around the small town in confusion, doing their best to make sense of the previous night's events.  

            However, Stryker was less interested in the anarchy around him as he was in the cause of it.  

            He glanced around and spotted some of his people gathered near a ruined ice cream parlor.  They were dressed in street clothes, just as he was.  No need to make the military's presence known here...at least, not until the media got bored and moved on.

            Stryker approached his troops, who did not salute, but still stood at respectful attention as he addressed them.

            "Any new information?" he asked one of his lieutenants and she shook her head.

            "No, sir," the lieutenant replied, "Most of the files from Systems Operations were lost in the fires, but we have a team en route to their main offices.  There should be no resistance to military control there...considering both Mr. Lowen and Mr. Rainbird are dead."

            Stryker nodded and almost looked disappointed.  Lowen had been an executive, a business man, nothing more.  But Rainbird had been the one who truly controlled Systems Operations.  Stryker had known him long before today.  

            Twenty years ago, John Rainbird had been the most deadly assassin the government had ever employed.  Stryker had collaborated with him on more than a few occasions.  Then, Rainbird became involved with the SHOP, a covert part of the Department of Scientific Investigations that specialized in the study of psychic abilities in human beings.

            It had been no secret, even twenty years ago, that reports of children being born with extraordinary talents had been increasing.  Very soon after scientists identified a chromosome they called the "mutant" gene, those same scientists began experimenting with it.  The results had been varied, but mostly failures.  Until the Lot Program was developed.  Until the Lot 6 experiment.

            After that, Rainbird's interests became solely focused on the Lot Program, and the enhancement of the "mutant" gene.  He believed, at the point of death, he could take a mutant's powers from them...to become powerful himself.  To become a god.

            Unfortunately, one small girl put a stop to Rainbird's ambitions...twice.

            "Have any of the Radiant Thunder boys been located?" Stryker asked.

            "Only one," she replied, "But he seems to be in shock.  He has not spoken to anyone and does not respond to outer stimuli..."

            "Keep searching for them," Stryker said firmly, "I want all six boys accounted for before sundown."

            "What about McGee, sir?" another of the soldiers asked and Stryker mused a moment before responding.

            "Have Logan's team begin monitoring train stations and bus terminals around the area for anyone matching her description," Stryker said, "From what Rainbird told me, she's been on the run for a long time, and is extremely difficult to apprehend.  For good reason..."

            Stryker extended his hands outward, indicating the burning wreckage around them.

            "For now, my main concern is Systems Operations and the Lot experiment," he said, "McGee's been on the loose for over ten years and, until yesterday, never used her power openly.  Those boys, though...Rainbird taught them how to be survivors, and they won't be as hesitant to use their powers against us if we seem like a threat.  _Be nice_ to them...be friendly...and get them back home to Sys Ops offices...without too much of a commotion."

            "Yes, sir," the three soldiers replied, and headed off to organize the other troops.

            Stryker glanced through the smashed window of the ice cream parlor and saw half of an automobile sitting on the front counter, among the melting flavors.  A strange frown formed on his face as he thought of those boys, and of McGee.  

            Children did this...for God's sake, they're just children.  And in one night, they did as much damage as an invading army.  And more like them were being born everyday.  Not in a controlled lab, but out in the free world, where their powers would go unchecked and uncontrolled...

            _Well_, Stryker thought as he marched down River Mead's former main street, _If they can't be controlled...we'll have to come up with another solution to this... 'mutant problem'..._


	4. Chapter Three: Charlie on the Road

Author's note:  Oops, forgot the disclaimer.  I own nothing in regards to the characters portrayed in this story...or much else for that matter.  :-)

***

Chapter Three:

            At a bus station just outside of Des Moines, Charlie McGee sat at a small table in one corner of the coffee shop, staring down at her uneaten danish blankly.  She knew she should be hungry, it had been almost twelve hours since the last time she ate, but nothing seemed even slightly appealing.

            She took a sip of her coffee, and leaned her head against her hand.  She had not spoken to anyone for the entire trip, and no one had tried to speak to her.  That was fine, considering she really had nothing to say.

            Scattered through the terminal were several televisions mounted from the ceiling, and aside from the steady rumble of arriving and departing buses, it was the only sound that Charlie paid any attention to.  There were several programs blaring at once; one television showing sports, another showing a random soap opera but most had been tuned to the local news station.  

            Charlie glanced up at the screen nearest to her and took another sip of her coffee.  There was a female anchor talking about business news, about how the numbers on Wall Street were up in some areas and down in other areas.  Her monotone voice and the steady, repetitious flow of numbers was enough to put anyone to sleep.  Charlie sighed, and drained the remainder of the hot coffee in one long draft.  The sting against her throat jolted her out of her daze, and she debated whether or not anther cup for the road would be a good idea.

            Crumbling the cup in the palm of her hand, Charlie stood and picked up her bag, leaving her breakfast pastry behind.  As she passed under one television, the picture suddenly changed, and a red banner reading 'Breaking News' flashed above the reporter's head.

            "This just in..." the deeper voice of a male anchor announced somberly, "Government officials are now confirming reports of a series of explosions in a small town in Colorado.  The plume of fire that lit the sky Wednesday night was visible for almost fifty miles, though no explanation for the explosions has been offered by authorities..."

            Charlie froze beneath the television as the man spoke, and closed her eyes.  She took a few steps forward, to avoiding seeing the screen and took a long breath.  When she opened her eyes, they fell upon another television that had been changed to the news channel.  Curious travelers were shifting their attention to the news, maybe to catch a safe glimpse of the far off chaos.

            The anchorman continued, "...to our Colorado affiliate.  Have you learned anything new about the tragedy?"

            The screen changed to a tired looking man standing in the middle of a ruined street.

            "No, Tom, we haven't," the field reported said, "Although the number of casualties reported by the local police has risen to fifty-two..."

            With a few quick steps, Charlie was heading toward the terminal's restrooms.  She struggled not to collapse as she maneuvered her heavy canvas bag around the televisions' gaping audience.

            Charlie stumbled into the Ladies room, dove into the nearest stall and slammed the door...a moment before she threw up.  Her 'breakfast' of coffee burned her throat a second time as she took a few heaving breaths.

            She crouched over the white porcelain seat and braced herself against the metal walls.  She struggled to draw air down her throat.  Her passing nausea was now joined by her shuddering sobs, and tears burned in her eyes.

            _Fifty-two people_, she thought, managing one ragged breath, _Fifty-two people...and they haven't finished counting yet._

            Another voice spoke to her, the calming voice of her father, _It wasn't you, Charlie.  You didn't kill all those people...you're not responsible for all those deaths..._

            Those boys, Rainbird's boys, they were the ones who did most of the killing.  That was true; she knew she was not responsible for killing _all_ those people.

            "No..." she mumbled to herself, "No...not all.  But _some.  Still some..._"

            Charlie reached one shaking hand forward and flushed the toilet.  Still bracing herself on the walls, she eased to her feet.  She lifted her pack to one shoulder and opened the stall door.

            She wandered over to the line of sinks, and turned on the cold water faucet.  She cupped her hands and took a few sips to wash the coffee taste out of her mouth.  Then, she splashed some of the water to her face, and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

            _You did a bad thing, Charlie_, another voice chided her bitterly, _You did a very...bad...thing..._

            This voice was her own, the voice of her younger self.  An angry conscience she had created when she had been a child.  When she had promised never to use her powers to hurt anyone...ever...

            Her hands were still under the cold stream of water, and her skin was beginning to sting.

            _It's a bad thing, Charlie_, the voice said, and fresh tears flowed over her cheeks, _It's the worst thing...Rainbird got you to kill!  You did a very bad thing..._

            "I know..." Charlie muttered, wiping her eyes, "I know...I'm sorry..."

            She ripped a paper towel rudely from the dispenser to her right and dried her face.  She crumpled it up and tossed it away.

            Suddenly, Charlie noticed a small girl standing near the bathroom's entrance.  Charlie blinked a few times, consciously wondering if the child was real.

            The little girl was wearing a pretty spring dress, covered in lace and buttons, which hung almost to her ankles.  Her eyes were wide, chestnut brown, and her dark hair was tied back with a long bow.  She stared at Charlie with curiosity and smiled.  

            "Hi," the little girl said sheepishly and Charlie could not help but smile back.

            "Hi," she replied and the girl tilted her head.

            "Why are you crying?" she asked.

            Charlie's mouthed opened slightly, wanting to reply but unsure of what to say.  Luckily, the little girl chimed in again quickly.

            "Are you sad?" she asked, "Why are you sad?"

            "I...um..." Charlie began, coughing once against her tears before continuing, "I...just lost a friend of mine..."

            "Where did you lose him?" the little girl asked, her wide brown eyes almost hypnotizing.

            "A long way from here," Charlie answered.

            "Do you miss him?" the little girl continued in her innocent interrogation.

            "Yeah..." Charlie said, "Yeah, I do.  He was...the first friend I had in...in a long time..."

            "Maybe you'll find him again," the little girl said brightly with a wide grin.

            Charlie shook her head, "No, I don't think so."

            "Well..." the little girl said, her brow furrowing as she pondered Charlie's dilemma, "Maybe...you'll meet some _new _friends..."

            The child's eyes were so hopeful, Charlie once again had to smile.

            "Yeah...maybe I will," she replied and the little girl looked satisfied by this conclusion.

            Just then, a woman burst into the bathroom, looking around with urgency until she spotted the child.

            "Oh, Sabine, _there you are!_" the woman said with relief, "I can't take my eyes off you for a minute!"

            The little girl spun around and smiled, "I was just talking to Charlie, mommy!"

            The older woman laughed and gave Charlie and apologetic glance.

            "Got the twenty questions, did you?" she asked with amusement, and then glanced down at her daughter, "Well, I'm sure Charlie is very busy and has a lot to do on her trip too."

            "It's okay," Charlie said, "She wasn't bothering me."

            The mother chuckled, "Try another ten hours of that and you might think differently.  Say goodbye now, Sabine."

            The little girl glanced up and waved.

            "Bye, Charlie," she said, "I hope you find your friends..."

            "Thanks," she replied, "Bye..."

            As the little girl turned to walk away, her mother quickly covered her with a long coat.  Charlie frowned as she watched them go.  Something swished under the back of the little girl's dress, and for a moment, Charlie could have sworn it looked like a tail.

            The door clicked shut and Charlie picked up her duffel bag, and glanced at herself in the mirror again.

            _You've been on the road too long, kid,_ she thought, and none of the other inner voices argued, _You're starting to see things..._

            She began to head toward the door, and then paused.

            _How did she know my name?_

            The thought flashed through Charlie's mind, and she frowned.  Thinking back on the conversation, she did not remember telling the child her name.  But, she must have...

            Shaking her head, she mumbled, "Yeah...definitely on the road for _too long_..."

            An hour or so later, Charlie was aboard a bus again, a bag of pastries sitting in her lap.

            Chicago...and then Toronto...and then..._north_...

***

Review response: 

To darkworldspirit:  Thanks for the review!  I liked Rekindled too.  Offers lots of crossover possibilities.  :-)  Hope you enjoy the rest of the story!


	5. Chapter Four: Jay's Sights

Chapter Four:

            In a mid-sized passenger jet heading west over the Atlantic Ocean, Jay Malloy sat in a first class seat and stared down at his laptop with a frown.  He was unconsciously chewing on the end of his pen as he scanned the document displayed on the screen.

            It had been less than forty-eight hours since Quentin Travers found him in the library watching the news report of the incident in Colorado, and now Jay was traveling to the small town of River Mead as part of the Council's investigative team.  Any other trainee in his position would have been excited or just plain nervous to be on their first mission, but Jay seemed to fold in quite naturally with the rest of the team.  His manner was always respectful, and his confidence in his abilities was never overbearing.

            Of course, only his friends and family saw past his proper exterior, and they knew that Jay had learned to keep himself cool in most situations only by snuffing his infrequent but vicious temper.  Emotionally unstable people were quickly eliminated from the Watcher trainees, and Jay did not want his position and reputation damaged by an inappropriate outburst.  However, his friends still steered clear of him when they knew he was angry, fearing for black eyes and lost teeth that could come from a poorly placed joke or snide remark.

            The document displayed on screen was the front page of the current Denver Post.  It had a picture from River Mead below the headline, and the destruction shown was similar to the other photos acquire by the Council over the past day and a half.  Yet, Jay still scrutinized every detail, just in case this picture hinted at something the others did not.

            After a while, Jay clicked the image closed and rubbed his eyes.  He glanced to his left, and saw that most of the other team members were asleep or engrossed in their own research.  It would be many long hours until they reached the United States, and then even more time until their adjoining flight took them on to Colorado.

            Jay sighed and stared forward through the cabin.  The stewardesses were mostly gathered near the cockpit, occasionally moving down the aisles to assist a passenger.  Other travelers were seated around him, scattered through the sparsely occupied cabin, and most were silent as the jet's engines hummed steadily around them.

            In order to keep himself awake, Jay opened a video file on the small computer before him, and put his hand to his temple.  He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing his vision to cloud and the seeing eye in his mind to open.  He made sure none of the others from the team were watching him, and then he looked out over the cabin again.  Around each passenger, he could make out vague clouds of swirling light.  They enveloped each person from shoulder to brow and then tapered off as the light trailed upward through the air craft's ceiling.

            Jay grinned, though he quickly suppressed it.  The light around each person told him something of their life.  If they were sick, upset, happy, mostly any emotional or physical state he could name.  Lights that were strongest at birth, but did not entirely fade out once someone had passed away.  

            This talent was what had sparked the Council's initial interest in Jeremiah Malloy.  He could see these lights when he wanted to, even the fading life force of the dead, which made finding ghosts and demons especially easy for him.  And in a few hours, his talents would be put to their first _real_ test.

            With this awareness in his vision, Jay stared down at his laptop again and played the video.  His eyes glittered like fire through glass, and the smile crept back onto his face.  It was a scene of chaos, from the town of River Mead.  Mixed with police and reporters were the residents of this once quiet small town...uncertainty on their faces...loss...confusion...

            And not all of the people Jay watched had survived the destruction.  They were vague, hazy and unclear forms captured by the video, and still would have remained unseen to anyone lacking Jay's gifts.  

            After a while, Jay stopped the digital movie and closed his laptop slowly.  He was getting a headache and decided to save his strength until he actually got to the town of River Mead.  It would be much easier to see the lights there, instead of over the recorded resources he had now.

            Jay stretched his arms over his head, and allowed his eyes to wander over the cabin again before he allowed his vision to return to normal.  Every one seemed very calm, but Jay read deeper into their lives by studying their lights.

            One woman nearby was staring with annoyance at her nails and then shifted unhappily from one buttock cheek to the next.  Her lights were bright, but also tightly formed around the woman's body.  She was a very private person, this told him, but every now and then her light would expand, as if trying to reach out to everyone, trying to be noticed, not wanting to be ignored.  She was a complainer, Jay guessed, mostly because she wanted people to pay attention to her all the time.

            Past her, a middle-aged man in an evenly pressed suit was tapping quickly onto an air phone connected to his chair.  Little flecks of yellow light darted around the man's head, and Jay would guess that he was about to tell someone a lie.

            Near the back of the cabin, Jay spotted the head of another man and he quickly looked away.  The man's light was bright, healthy, but swirling with dark blue ribbons.  Jay swallowed uncomfortably and tried to ignore the pleasure in the man's light.  Blue light...Jay had learned very quickly that blue light meant wrath...and often meant murder.  He would have bet anyone that man may have recently had something to do with someone else's death.

            Jay stared forward and then frowned as his gaze settled on the person directly in front of him.  It was a young man, barely out of his teens, and his light was bright, innocent, but strangely different from the others around him.  The aura was more solid, more pronounced, as if the light had been filtered through a prism.  Almost as if certain colors had been amplified...enhanced...

            Jay had noticed this odd occurrence before.  Not too often, and in the most random places.  Someone who seems completely ordinary in every way with just have those certain lights that stand out in a crowd.  Jay had not yet been able to figure out what they meant...as he had with certain 'colors' found in each person's light.

            Yellow usually meant deceit, gray typically meant an illness of some kind, red meant anger, blue meant malice...the list went on.  But the enhanced lights did not seem to be specific to any emotion or physical state.  

            Jay wondered what made those few random people so different from anyone else.

            _Oh well_, he thought and closed his eyes again.  When he reopened them, and was glad to see that everyone had returned to normal.  

            _I'll figure it out eventually,_ he thought and then decided to close his eyes again, and hoped when he awoke they would be over North America.

            Home, sweet home...

***

Author's note: Very tired right now so if grammar errors are out of control, let me know.  :-)


	6. Chapter Five: Logan's Team

Chapter Five:

Out of all the special ops forces under William Stryker's command, there was only one team he had complete confidence in when mission failure was not an option.

Their official title was S.E.A.L. Platoon 4-77, but everyone, including those in command, always referred to them as the Carnivores.

Each man on the team had been recruited personally by unknown predecessor of Stryker, but they still followed the new Colonel's orders dutifully. The main contact of this team was named Logan (no one knew for sure if that was his first name or last name), but the Carnivores did not have any identified leader.

They were soldiers, assassins, former terrorists. Each man was skilled at tracking and eliminating targets, almost to an unnatural degree, and Stryker knew he would need that team if Charlene McGee was ever to be located, and acquired, again.

--------------------------

"Colonel?" a soldier dressed in street clothes said formally as he entered Stryker's makeshift office at the former company headquarters of Systems Operations.

Stryker glanced up at the younger man, and gestured for him to step forward. The soldier handed the Colonel a red folder with the mission details.

"Report," Stryker said curtly, "Have all targets been found?"

The soldier nodded, "Yes, sir. We found them just east of River Mead. We brought the five boys back with us and they are secured in their nursery again."

Stryker's eyes narrowed, "Nursery?"

"Yes, sir," the soldier replied, "That's what the Systems Ops people called it..."

"Did they?" Stryker interrupted him sharply, and glanced down at the report in the red folder, "Tell me, Captain...how many of your men were injured bringing these innocent children back to the _nursery_?"

The soldier shifted nervously on his feet.

"Eight, sir," he answered honestly, "Only one critical...and the two who lost their hearing are expected to make a complete recovery..."

There was a moment of lingering silence before Stryker offered the soldier a reply.

"And...you believe...the term 'nursery' is an accurate description of where these boys need to be kept?"

The soldier straightened his shoulders, "No, sir. Of course not, sir."

"What about McGee?" Stryker continued coldly, "Has platoon 4-77 reported back yet?"

"No, sir," the soldier replied, and the Colonel looked surprised as the younger man continued, "At least...not to me, sir. Logan is waiting to speak with you next, sir."

A broad and unpleasant grin spread over Stryker's face.

"Very well. Now, why don't you go set up a little guard on the little boys in the nursery...and await further instructions."

The Colonel's tone was vicious and condescending, but the soldier dared not to argue with the powerful commander and headed out the office quickly.

A moment later, another man entered the room and closed the door with a loud bang. Stryker did not flinch at the sound, or when the man approached the desk. Logan stood just under six feet tall, but his broad torso and ferial appearance made him seem larger than he was. Stryker knew almost nothing about the man who went by the code name Wolverine in combat, or any of the other men in platoon 4-77. What he did know, was that the success rate of the Carnivores in their missions. One hundred percent...and he like those odds.

"Report," was all Stryker said.

"The Lot 23 group is secure, but I'm sure you knew that...sir," Logan replied, adding the last word as almost an afterthought.

"And McGee?" Stryker asked, cutting to the point and ignoring the other man's tone.

"No information so far," Logan said darkly, "But we are refocusing our efforts."

Stryker nodded, "Good. She has a long history of running...and you _are aware_ of her gifts..."

"Yes, Marko has interrogated several witnesses who confirm the accounts from Rivermead," Logan said.

Stryker raised a curious eyebrow at this. If Logan seemed agitated about the lack of information regarding McGee's whereabouts, the sentiment must be shared by the others members of the Carnivores to have allowed Cain Marko to question bystanders. He mused for another moment before speaking.

"If these reports are accurate," Stryker said, "Then one of the Systems Ops boys is supposed to be a psychic of some kind. Like a seer or a shaman or some nonsense..."

He watched Logan's reactions carefully as he continued.

"However..." Stryker's drawl twanged noticeably on the word, "Given the state of Rivermead...there might be some truth to the rumors. Perhaps you should consider interrogating that child as well..."

Logan glanced away from the Colonel, and Stryker could have sworn he saw hesitation on the other man's face.

"Problem, soldier?" Stryker asked coyly.

Logan glowered down at him, "I don't like kids...sir."

"There not children," the Colonel replied somberly, "They're weapons...bred into aesthetically pleasing casings. Feel free to use them as you would any other device at your disposal. Dismissed."

--------------------------

When the wolf-like man entered the room, four of the Lot 23 boys cowered in terror in their bed rooms. Andrew, however, the one most of the staff at Systems Operations had called the Seer, sat calmly at one child-sized desk, rolling his cane back and forth with one hand as Logan sat down across from him.

"I knew you were coming," Andrew said pleasantly, "I told the others not to worry...you're not the one who kills us..."

Logan stared at him with a deep frown, a little unnerved by the way the boy's dark sunglasses would follow his movements, even though the boy was completely blind.

"Then you know why I'm here..." Logan said, his voice almost a growl.

"Charlie," Andrew said in a quick breathless gasp that may have been a sob.

Logan nodded, somehow knowing the blind boy would sense the affirmative.

Andrew took a long breath before he spoke. He did not want to tell this dark man where Charlie was running to...but that was what had to happen. It always happened this way, every time he saw it.

"She's dreaming...Logan," Andrew said, "She's dreaming of snow..."


	7. Chapter Six: Dreaming of Snow

Chapter Six:

_            The Greyhound tore down the highway as swiftly as its bulk would allow._

_            The passengers seated within were comfortable; the bus was just over half full._

_            Signs showing names of other towns and small cities were ignored by travelers eager to reach their destination.  As they moved past, the numbers ticked down the miles to __Chicago__ like timer of an active bomb...falling from three digits...to two digits..._

_            But Charlie did not see any of this..._

_            Charlie was dreaming..._

            --------------------------

            It is cold.  In dreams, you were not supposed to feel things like that, but she did.

            Charlie feels the cold.  It is wonderful.  Falling snowflakes touch her face softly, not melting, but freezing over her skin.  The landscape around her is blanketed in white.  The great trees have lost their leaves to autumn, and not to a scorching flame.

            There was no fire that could destroy the beauty around her.  Not here, not in this world of ice.  Here she is safe...here, she is free.

            Charlie feels tears mix with the frost beneath her eyes.  She holds out her arms, and watches as snow began to cover her gloved hands.

            Then, she notices something else in the snow, a dark shadow against the sea of white.  The creature is stalking slowly toward her, and Charlie can hear the wolf's low growl.  She takes a step back, and holds her hands up defensively, but there is no heat in them.  The wolf picks up its pace, and Charlie begins to run. 

            The trees pass by her in an unnatural blur.  Her bare feet are torn painfully by the dense, frozen underbrush.

            She reaches inside herself to call out her power.  Fire...she needs fire now...where is it..._where is it_..._when she needs it...it does not come..._

            Charlie hears the wolf getting closer, and begins to panic at her own helplessness.  She has never been unable to defend herself before.

            Suddenly, the forest ends, and the dense snow disappears with it.  Charlie continues to run forward across a barren field, and her feet touch soft, tilled earth.  She stares out over the new land with terror.  There is no place to hide here...there is no place to go.

            Behind her, she hears the wolf.

            It is crouching at the edge of the snowy forest, pacing back and forth but never taking its eyes from its prey.  Charlie winces painfully as the wolf begins to howl in one long, piercing tone.

            From within the trees, another figure appears.  Charlie stares at the man and feels new fear rise in her chest.  The man barks a few indiscernible orders to the wolf, which trots obediently to his side.

            The man is broad, with close-cropped hair, wearing a military uniform.  He grins menacingly at her, squinting as if he may need glasses at some point in the near future.  He reaches down, and pets the wolf lovingly.  He whispers inaudibly to the creature, and then calls out to her.

            "We'll find you, Charlie!  The rows can hide you if they're dead!  We'll find you, Charliiiiiiiieeeeee..."

            --------------------------

_            The sound of her own name rang in her ears as she woke from the dream._

_            A long, high-pitched scream...that was suddenly joined by other screams..._

_            Charlie opened her eyes, and realized with horror that they were coming from the other passengers.  The rear of the bus, where she was now sitting, was quickly catching on fire._

_            Many of the travelers were on their feet, rushing away from the heat and flames.  They stumbled over each other to evacuate the bus, as the driver pulled over in an ungraceful panic._

_            Charlie sat for a moment, waiting for the others to exit the bus completely, and then hung her head.  She felt warmth rush into her face as she began to cry.  A deep shame fell over her heart, and she wept within the fire.  After another moment, she got to her feet and closed her eyes.  By the time she opened them again, the fire was out, snuffed by her cursed ability._

_            With one strong kick, she sent the charred emergency exit flying from its hinges.  She pulled her remaining luggage onto her back and jumped down to the ground.  Several of the passengers watched with horrified shock as the young woman stepped out of the burning bus, unscathed.  _

_            They gave her a wide berth as she walked away from the main highway, into the growing darkness.  She still heard their panic, even when she was out of sight.  _

_            After a while, she came to another large road and finally noticed a green directional sign in the distance._

_Chicago__, 10 miles, it read._

_            Charlie ground her teeth, and shook off any lingering emotion about what had just occurred on the bus.  It did not matter, in the end.  No one would remember the one passenger who had disappeared during the incident.  A few would not want to find her...ever...after what they had seen._

_            So, Charlie began to walk, as she had a hundred times before, moving north...towards the city..._


	8. Chapter Seven: Vision of the Blind

Chapter Seven:

River Mead was almost entirely abandoned when the investigative team from the Council of Watchers arrived. There were still a few police officers and local investigators trying to find out what had happened to the small town, but their efforts were pretty much exhausted. The destruction had been almost total, from the obnoxiously sized bank to the quaint ice cream parlor, each building nearly leveled by the explosions.

Any lingering residents or pedestrians had either left or been taken elsewhere by local authorities. There was no reason to stay, with so many dead...and many more who had physical and mental trauma that the most experienced physicians would never understand.

Jay Malloy crouched next to an overturned car, and sifted dirt and ash through his hands thoughtfully. The glass from the automobile's windshield had melted and re-fused with other debris, making the ground around it glisten in the morning light. Jay appreciated the beauty and horror of what was evident before him. He ran his hand over the smooth shards embedding in the pavement and frowned. He had no idea how hot a fire would have to be to cause this sort of distortion, but he assumed normal explosives would not have had the same result.

"Malloy!" he heard someone called his name, and glanced up to see one of his colleagues walking toward him, "There you are. Find anything yet?"

"Hey, Giles," Jay replied quietly to his classmate, and then looked back down at the glittering ground, "Found a lot of things...like this fairly new, formally intact vehicle, here..."

Rupert Giles adjusted the spectacles on his face and frowned, "Yes...I noticed that one too. But, Parks wants to know if you _found_ anything yet..."

Jay sighed with annoyance. Parks was Quentin Travers's personal assistant...at least, self proclaimed assistant. In Jay's opinion, just plain _ass_ was a sufficient description.

He stood up slowly and grinned at 'Ripper,' "You stuck being his gopher today?"

Giles shrugged, keeping his own temper snuffed under a veil of indifference.

"Seriously, though," he said to Jay, "Have you seen anything strange?"

"Seen...or _seen_..." Jay said, pointing to his temple on the last word with a smirk.

Giles nodded, and then grinned and mimicked the action. What had Jay _seen..._as in with his inner eye.

"Give me a few minutes," Jay said, and began walking slowly across the street.

Giles clasped his hands behind his back, and watched curiously as his friend began to use his gift.

Jay took one long breath and then closed his eyes. He was still walking, entirely aware of the world around him...even without his normal sight...

--------------------------

_It is dark now...but Jay is still standing in the middle of River Mead..._

_ The streets are bustling with pedestrians...happy, innocent, going about their business..._

_ Time moves...then pauses..._

_ Jay watches as people began to panic...the screams of the first victims tear through him like knives..._

_ Time moves faster...then..._

_ A small mob surges past him on the right...followed by a boy..._

_ 'You can't stand...' the boy says darkly..._

_ Two from the group fall to their knees in helpless terror...losing all control over their two lower limbs..._

_ Jay watches the boy smirk with amusement..._

_ Time moves..._

_ Jay feels fury...impossible fury...then the explosions begin..._

_ Time moves..._

_ Panic...terror...the boys run..._

_ One lone figure is left among the flames...she is surrounded by a corona of orange light..._

_ Another explosion blinds him..._

--------------------------

Jay held his hands in front of his face and toppled to the ground.

When he looked up, he saw the figure of a boy in front of him. He was small, no more than ten or eleven. He wore large dark glasses and held a walking cane in front of him. The boy's form was hazy, almost transparent and Jay's initial instinct was that the boy was a ghost.

"I'm not," the boy said aloud, "I don't die for a long time..." The boy's face became thoughtful, "...I met my murderer today...right after the wolf man left...his name is Stryker..."

Jay shifted uneasily as the boy's unseeing gaze fixed on him again.

"You have to help her, Jay," the boy said urgently, "You have to help Charlie. You have to go east...before she starts to go north..."

"Who's Charlie?" Jay asked, fascinated by the telepathic projection before him. This boy was most certainly alive, though not actually present. The boy's aura was sharp, like a prism, just like those other random people Jay noticed from time to time.

The boy grinned bashfully, "We all love her, you know. The way Rainbird talked...she's like our sister...but so much more... we all love her a little bit. Even Paul...though he says he doesn't..."

"Who is she?" Jay asked.

The boy's face became anxious again.

"Find her, Jay," he pleaded, "You're the only one who can keep her safe! Find her...before the wolf...before the tiger...before the monsters! Go east! Before she goes north! The snow isn't safe!"

The boy's voice faded and Jay closed his eyes again tightly.

--------------------------

When Jay opened them, Giles was grasping his shoulders and shaking him.

"Jay!" Giles shouted with concern, "Malloy! Wake up! Come back!"

"Easy, Ripper," Jay muttered as his inner eye closed, "Gonna tear my arms off..."

Giles sighed and helped Jay to his feet. Jay dusted his expensive suit off dramatically, as his friend waited for an explanation.

"Good Lord, man," Giles finally said, "What happened to you?"

"I don't know," Jay admitted, glancing around to see if anyone else had noticed his fall, "Let's just say there's a little more around here than the auras of Colorado's Finest..."

Giles frowned, "Spirits?"

Jay shook his head, "No...he said he wasn't dead yet..."

"It wouldn't be something I'd want to admit either," Giles replied doubtfully. Most ghosts had a prolonged attachment to their former lives, and 'I'm not dead!' was a common statement among them.

Jay grinned at his friend's dry humor, "He had a life-light, Ripper. Whoever I saw, he was not a ghost..."

Giles frowned, "What then?"

Jay shook his head and frowned. Suddenly, he began to walk quickly toward where _ass_istant Parks was standing.

"Jay?" Giles called and began to follow him, "Where are you going?"

"East!" Jay replied, "I gotta tell Parks! We have to take the team east!"

_Before she goes north_, Jay finished in his head. The vision had fascinated him. He had not told Giles, but it had been the most intense vision of the past he had ever had. He wanted to know who the boy was...and who Charlie was.


	9. Chapter Eight: Tracking a Path

Chapter Eight:

There was a motel, not far from Chicago, that had a nasty reputation with the Illinois State Police. It was just one of those places that seemed to draw the worst of society together, as well as lure any number of transients by its cheap rooms and 'no-questions-asked' policy. It was certainly not where one would expect to find a young woman traveling alone without any sort of visible weaponry.

But Charlie was not worried about the people around her. Even if the other guests in this motel considered themselves 'dangerous criminals,' she was contented with their illusions. They really had no idea what it was to be dangerous.

Charlie was sitting cross-legged on the small bed, which crowned her dingy, cramped motel room. She did not mind the stains on the floor or on the walls. She did not mind the strange odors wafting from the mattress beneath the tattered blankets, or the worse smells coming from the dark bathroom. She did not mind the occasional shouting or muffled banging that echoed from the parking lot and the other rooms.

Her entire attention was focused on a large map, which she had unfolded carefully and spread across the end of the bed. It was a road map, showing all the highways and major roads of the central United States. Several routes had been highlighted in yellow, and each marked a road heading north, past the Canadian border.

Charlie stared silently down at the map for a long time before she realized she was crying.

Making no attempt to wipe her eyes, she reached out and touched one finger on a road just east of Chicago. She leaned forward and traced her intended path through the city. The motion was slow as she tried to memorize each county, each highway number, and each small town she would venture through before she reached her destination.

As her finger moved, teardrops rolled down her face and fell onto the map, tracing the path of sorrows she had been following since she was eight-years-old. Stop one...the Shop killed her mother. Stop two...she and her father had run, as long and as far as they could before Rainbird found them. Stop three...she watched her father die at the hands of a man she trusted. Stop four...she destroyed the Shop and ran. Stop five...along on the road, she had destroyed a truck stop when someone tried to mug her. Stop six...stop seven...stop eight...

The list went on and on until she reached Colorado. But I did not stop there. Stop...she met Vincent. Stop...she found out Rainbird was still alive. Stop...a trusted friend of her parents betrayed her. Stop...she watched Vincent die. Stop...she warred with her 'brothers.' Stop...she burned Rainbird to ash... Stop...Stop...Stop...Stop...

"Stop...stop...stop..."

Charlie had been repeating the word for nearly ten minutes before she heard the sound of her own voice.

Enough.

Enough stopping. Now was time to move.

Charlie drew back her arm and held her hand in front of her face. She frowned deeply and flexed her hand into a fist. She focused, and she could feel the fire there. It was an incredible feeling, that sensation of power flowing out of her mind.

_Out of my mind,_ Charlie thought and her features relaxed, _Is that what's happening to me? Is that was will happen to me? Could I ever really live without the flames?_

She opened her hand and the power faded. Her fingers felt cold. That was good. Cold was good. Charlie stood up and folded up the map in front of her. There was a resolution in her face, evidence of a decision made by someone whose true age was far beyond her years.

She would go to Canada. She would find a place encased in ice and snow. She would lock herself away from everyone else, everything that lives.

And if the wolves tried to stop her, she would show them what the criminals around her did not know. She would show them what it means to be dangerous.

---------------------------

Victor Creed stood outside the shell of the charred bus, inhaling deeply through his nose, as if trying to catch a scent on the morning air.

He was a tall man, nearly six-foot-five without the additional height provided by his heavy boots. His dark, rather long blonde hair was hanging freely around his face. He stood with his arms folded over his broad chest, and his unshaven face made him look ferial. He was a member of the special task force assigned to find Charlene McGee, and the code name engraved on his metal dog tags was 'Sabretooth.'

Creed ground his teeth with frustration as he waited with waning patience for Logan to emerge from the bus. Marko was en route to their location, as were the other two members of their little team, and Creed knew the hunt would not begin until they all arrived. Logan had been insistent on that, though Creed hardly knew why. He and Logan were the only real trackers in the group. It must have been Stryker's idea, and therefore, Stryker's order.

Creed did not like their current commanding officer and made no secret about it. He figured that was why Stryker never requested his presence at any mission briefing. Not that he minded. Let Logan deal with the 'superiors' and their 'superior' requests. Creed had no tolerance for aged men in the higher ranks who had fought their way to a cushy desk job lecturing true soldiers like himself about how to do their duties.

After a few more minutes, Creed heard Logan exit the bus and sensed him approaching. He turned and stared down at the shorter, dark haired soldier, who looked violently frustrated by his investigation of the burned out Greyhound.

"Where are the others?" Logan said in a rumbling voice, then sniffing the air deeply to clear his lungs.

"Marko should be here in less than fifteen minutes, the rest...in less then ten," Creed replied, smugly amused by Logan's discontent, and motioned toward the bus, "Anything?"

Logan glared over at the taller man, and exhaled heavily, "No. Any trace of the girl has been burned away."

Creed narrowed his eyes and shifted his gaze to the bus, "I'm going to check it out myself...just in case you _missed_ anything."

Logan laughed viciously, "Be my guest. The trail is dead. No scent except for sulfa and ash..." He stared past the bus and ground his teeth, "That's what we follow...sulfa and ash..."

Creed grinned broadly, "Been a while since we've had a real challenge. I hope this bitch runs...and runs hard."

"She will," Logan confirmed, though not as enthusiastically as his teammate, "The only way Rainbird got this kid was with pretty lies and bull shit tricks. Government gave up on findin' her years ago."

"She's outta practice then," Creed remarked, "So why'd they call us in?"

"Because...apparently," Logan said, pointing his middle finger back at the bus, "She's gotta thing for fire. And that make Stryker's other resources nervous."

Creed made a disgruntled noise in his throat, and thought, _Sulfa and ash. We'll see how she deals with real predators on her heels..._

--------------------------

Author's note: Okay, minor writer's block so I'm throwing out a request for suggestions. Logan's team so far includes Victor Creed (gotta love Sabretooth) and Cain Marko, both from the X-Men universe. HOWEVER...I am stuck on finding two more additions to their carnivorous group. So, if anybody has any suggestions for two more bad ass, animal like bad guys who could be part of this little squad, let me know. Doesn't need to be a Marvel character, cause y'all know I love the crossovers. Please aid a weary writer... sniff, tears, so pathetic :-)


	10. Chapter Nine: Calls from the Fields

Chapter Nine:

"I know this is right!" Jay Malloy insisted urgently into the portable phone carried by the leader of his team. Jay heard Quentin Travers sigh heavily on the other end of the line, ten hours ahead and hundreds of miles away from Colorado. He and the other Council elders were listening to Jay by speakerphone, and he knew some of them would be cranky for being awoken at this late hour in England.

"Jeremiah," Travers said complacently, "I know you have great faith in your gifts and your visions, but you haven't found any solid evidence of _who_ this perpetrator _is_...let alone _where _he is going..."

"She," Jay replied firmly, "The _perpetrator_ is a _she_. Her name is Charlie. She not a demon or a ghost and neither was the boy I saw. I don't know how to explain it...it wasn't like anything I'd ever felt or seen before but _I know this is right!_"

"Please watch your tone, Jeremiah," Travers said sternly, "There's no need to get hysterical."

Jay bit back a remark and massaged his eyes with his fingertips. He was not going to win his argument with the Council if he lost his temper.

"I apologize, Mr. Travers," he said calmly, "I understand the Council's hesitancy, considering my lack of experience and our current distance from a supervising base..."

_That's it, Malloy_, Jay thought to himself, _Kiss a little ass...give 'em what they wanna hear..._

"...however," he continued, "You were right in saying I have faith in my gifts. _Utter, irresponsible confidence _would be a better description in the eyes of many of the elders, I'm sure."

He could hear some of the elders chuckle at that on the other end of the phone, and Jay grinned. He imagined Travers would be fuming at that, but he was not the Head of the Council, so he would grin and bear it.

"I believe we should give the boy a chance," a light female voice chimed in and Jay sat up straighter in his chair, "After all...we allowed him to join the others in order to test his gifts."

"This investigation would be an ideal situation considering his abilities," a gruff male voice agreed. Jay recognized the voices of the woman and man as those of his teachers, and he felt a wave of relief pass over him as they supported his request.

A moment of tense silence passed for Jay, until he heard Travers's voice speak again.

"Very well," he said, though obviously with some doubts, "Jeremiah, inform Parks of your findings. Tell him that I, and the others of the Council, agree that the team should follow your lead and take the investigation east."

Jay resisted the urge to laugh aloud in triumph, but was unable to conceal the self-righteous grin on his face. He hoped Travers could hear it when he spoke.

"Thank you," Jay replied respectfully to the listening elders, "I appreciate this chance to truly test my abilities in the field, so that I may learn to use them effectively for the Council in the future."

"Report back immediately on any findings," the female voice spoke again. Jay agreed respectfully before wishing them a good night and hanging up the phone.

Jay exited the private room where he had made his phone call and found Parks, Giles and the rest of the team waiting for him patiently. He handed the phone politely back to Parks and informed him of the Council's decision.

Some time later, as the team prepared to leave, Giles found Jay packing and muttering to himself. He regarded his friend with skeptical amusement.

"So tell me, Jeremiah," Giles asked slyly, "Where exactly are we going? You said east...more than three hundred times since your vision back in River Mead. But there is quite a lot of east until we hit the ocean..."

Jay glanced over at his friend and grinned, "I'll know where we're going when we get there. Have you really lost all faith in me, Ripper?"

"No, because I never had any to begin with," Giles replied with a wicked tone that greatly contradicted his proper and brooding exterior, "Actually...I came to tell you there's another call for you..."

"Oh, God," Jay said, suspecting that Travers had thought of another lecture to give him, "Just tell whoever it is to piss off, will you?"

"Certainly," Giles replied, "But I don't know if your mother would appreciate that..."

Jay blinked with surprise and then laughed, "Appreciate it? If my mom's on the phone...you don't want to know what she'd do if you used foul language on a public phone line. _Those words are for bars and broken toes_. That's one of her favorite sayings."

Jay wandered out and found another member of the team minding the phone until he arrived. Jay smiled warmly as he picked up the receiver.

"Tell me one thing, Jeremiah Malloy," a softly weathered voice asked before he could even say hello, "It is too much for a young man of the world to let his family know his flight has landed safely when traveling across the ocean from Oxford?"

Jay shook his head. He had not realized how much he missed his mother's voice until she gave her quiet inquiry. Her mid-western drawl brought back a thousand memories of the fields and the farms, and a sudden twang of homesickness surprised him.

"Actually, mom," Jay said, "It was. You see we were ambushed by a pack of werewolves in O'Hare international airport and..."

"Oh, stop," she replied with a laugh, "You're going to make me worry about wolves chasing you now."

"How's dad?" Jay asked, "Is he there?"

"No, he's out helping Mitch Boredman fix that old combine of his," his mother said with exaggerated impatience, "But he's fine. And so's your brother. Your father's had him busy all this month getting ready for plowing. Do you think you'll be able to come home for harvest?"

"I don't know," Jay replied honestly, "I was told this investigation should only take a few days but...I have a feeling it might last a little longer..."

There was a pause before his mother spoke again, and he could almost see the worried frown forming on her weathered face.

"I have a feeling, too," she replied softly, "I worry about you, Jay. I know Council life can be dangerous...and you have a habit of finding trouble for yourself."

Jay smiled again, "Not everywhere can be as safe as Gatlin. I'm with professionals, ma. We'll be fine."

"I'll believe that when you are home eating a meal with your family," was his mother's curt reply.

"I can smell the cornbread already," he replied with a laugh.

"Just be careful runnin' east," his mother said with finality, "News said there was a big bus fire on some highway near Chicago...never can tell what'll happen on the road..."

"We'll be careful," he insisted, impatient to get started, "Thanks for calling, mom. I'll be home soon if I can."

As he hung up the phone, Jeremiah Malloy frowned as he thought back on his mother's last few words. _Be careful running east_, she had said. Had he told her they were going east?

_Bus fire outside of __Chicago__. Thanks for the advice, ma._, Jay thought quickly, and a broad grin spread over his face as he ran to find Parks. He finally knew exactly where they needed to go.


	11. Chapter Ten: O'Hare Encounter

Author's note: New Disclaimer! Cause this story is taking all kinds of turns! I own nothing in regards to any previously published work or character portrayed in this simple expression of my fandom. :-) I've decided on my last two members of Logan's team. Hope they make worthy adversaries for my hero and heroine!

Chapter Ten:

_O'Hare __International __Airport_

Jay Malloy stepped off the small jet and adjusted his shoulder worn bag nervously as he walked down the metal steps leading to the tarmac. He was aware of the rest of the team around him, but his mind was on the bustling crowd in the terminal. The team had trusted his judgment, and so had the Council elders. Now that they had landed in the windy city of Chicago, Jay felt a quiet anxiety creeping into his chest.

It was not doubt about his decision. No, he was absolutely positive that the answers for the mystery in River Mead would be here, as much as he had been certain the young blind boy in his vision had not been a ghost. What he felt was a sense of dread, of warning. Each step he took forward was taking him to some point where he could never turn back.

It was the same sensation he got when he was younger and lost his temper. Angry words would come, blows thrown, hits taken, until the anger drove him to a point where he could not take back the insults his temper gave to whomever it had been directed upon. Like just before he left home, his last argument with his father.

The words had come, oh yes, words that would have broken lesser men much sooner than the men of the Malloy family. His father had not wanted him to join the Council and Jay knew that before the day he told his father he had made up his mind to go. At first the debate had been equal in ferocity and partially deserved on both parts. Then, Jay had pushed harder, like he always did, until he had given his father an insult that broke him, and insult Jay could never take back.

_I called him a failure,_ Jay thought to himself, those old memories as stark and vivid as the day they were made, _I called him a pathetic farmer...no, a wasted, pathetic farmer...the words that earned me my first and only black eye at the old man's hands. Jesus, why am I thinking of this now?_

Jay took a long breath and continued to walk forward. He knew exactly why he was thinking this now. Because he suddenly felt as if he was walking into another argument, another fight he could never take back...another surprise shiner from somewhere he never expected. Before that last argument, Jay had not thought his father was capable of striking his own children. But he supposed everyone had a breaking point, even a former cop turned cornhusker, who any of the hen-peckers back in Gatlin would have said had the patience of a saint.

_You know what he would say, right?_ Jay asked himself solemnly, _You know _exactly_ what would come out of Martin Malloy's mouth if he was standing in front of you now, right? Overconfidence, Jay, is worse than overcautious. Watch your step, boy. The wolves love the reckless..._

Jay suddenly felt his face break into a smile when his old man's voice echoed in his head. Good advice, as much now as back then.

The team entered the main terminal and met their escorts from the Chicago branch of the Council of Watchers. There were five very young men and women, who Jay guessed were candidates trying their damnedest to keep in their teachers' good graces by aiding the visiting team from Oxford.

_Way to stay inconspicuous. Heaven forbid the Watchers carry their own shit to the limos_, Jay thought, suddenly hearing his father's voice again, _Pick up your suitcase, Jeremiah. Don't act like you're any better, cause at the end of all things...you won't be..._

"Okay, Dad, lay off," he muttered with amusement to himself as he hoisted his travel duffel back onto his back. He caught Giles giving him a very cynical glare and Jay simply grinned in returned.

He began to follow the rest of the group toward the main gates, when another sensation of dread washed over him. He glanced around at the other travelers, trying not to look at anyone directly. He knew what he had to do...or he knew what he wanted to do...but he had to buy himself a few minutes.

"Yo, Rupert," he called out, in a very un-Watcher-like fashion, "I'll catch up...I gotta run to the can!"

Giles nodded and then shook his head, "I told you to go before we left the plane..."

Without waiting for another reply, Jay moved quickly toward a sign hanging from the ceiling that read, _RESTROOMS_. When he was sure he was out of sight of the rest of the team, Jay positioned himself near a line of pay phones and lifted one to his ear. The harsh dial tone was barely noticed as Jay closed his eyes and focused.

A moment later, he saw the world as only he could see it. There was still the normal flow of arrivals and departures moving past him in both directions, but the people were now alive with light. As the crowds moved, so did their shining auras, the clouds of life that would follow them until they were free of their earth-bound bodies. So, Jay saw...and he knew...

...and he watched...

* * *

Francis Dolarhyde walked through the terminal quickly, shifting his large, muscular form around the other pedestrians without touching them. He did not like to be touched, physical contact of any kind beyond what was necessary in combat made him uncomfortable...extremely uncomfortable. So did stares, the watching eyes of the crowd that may be focused on him at any point. He did not like to be watched, any glance that lasted more than a few seconds made him anxious...extremely anxious. He was consistently conscious of his appearance. As a child, he had suffered criticism from his family and all those around him because of his physical deformity. If he had been born only a few decades later, his hair lip would have been a minor curse in a world whose definition of freak had been narrowed down to only those individuals known as 'mutants.' Unfortunately for him, fate gave him an earlier birth and then the resulting traumatic childhood.

When his team leader told him to search such a public location for their target, Dolarhyde had known this was another test...another challenge. Logan wanted to be sure he had Dolarhyde's absolute and utter loyalty as part of his team.

He moved quickly toward the main doors of the hanger, shifting his body weight almost gracefully left and right through the sheep around him. Sheep that the wolves kept safe...kept unaware of the dangers standing right in front of them. But, Dolarhyde was not a wolf...he was a dragon. His chosen code name in the small, select group known as the Carnivores was the Red Dragon.

Dolarhyde glanced upward once, and spotted Victor Creed standing in one secluded corner of the terminal. He made his way past a little overhead sign reading, RESTROOMS, and gave Victor a simple nod in greeting. Logan was standing closer to the window, as was Cain Marko and Wilson Fisk, who would soon be known to the world of crime by the same code name he used now, Kingpin.

Each individual standing in their small group had a dark past...and a darker future to come...but none of them would have ever guessed there was a dutiful Watcher-in-training carefully learning about their current mission.

* * *

Logan nodded in return to Dolarhyde as he joined and completed their team. He sniffed once and grimaced. Logan shared the Red Dragon's distaste for crowds. But their target was running, and every avenue needed to be inspected.

"Anything?" Logan asked Dolarhyde, who simply shook his head in response.

"I checked the security reports for a girl matching the target's description, but no game," Fisk added quickly. He seemed the most relaxed out of their quintet, leaning casually against the wall and admiring a few select females from the crowd with a broad grin.

"What did you learn from the witnesses at Systems Ops, Marko?" Logan asked in a low voice to the tall man known at the Juggernaut.

"Not much, even under _heavy_ persuasion," Marko replied, making no attempt to hide the amusement in his voice, "Just that they're all pretty much scared shitless of this bitch. Even after the interrogations, I'd say they'd rather spend a month with me of ten minutes with her."

"Sheep..." Creed muttered with distaste, and then glanced down at Logan, "She's not here...she's never been here...we all know it. So...where to next, boss man?"

Logan glared up at him viciously, "Bus stations. Train stations. Anywhere that could get her far away cheap. Marko, Fisk, check out the main bus stops starting outside the city and move in. D-man, check out the rental car places here and find out if any of them have had stolen cars reported over the past twelve hours. Creed and I will head to Union Station. Call in immediately if you have even the slightest suspicion of the target, got it?"

Logan watched with satisfaction as each member of his team registered a silent affirmative to his orders.

"Sulfa and ash, gentlemen," he finally said before marching off with Creed, "Sulfa and ash. This bitch is ours."

* * *

In the years since Jeremiah Malloy discovered his gift for seeing people in this unique way, he had never been in greater terror then when he spotted the five men hidden conspicuously in plain sight. No ghost or demon or evil force he had studied or encountered in his years as a student of the Council compared to what he saw in the life lights of those five men.

_Blue...blue...blue..._ the word rang through Jay's head like the chime of a great bell, heavy, mournful, song of the dead. In the world of auras, blue meant wrath. But, blue also meant murder. And that was all Jay saw when he looked at the small group in the corner.

The first hint had come as one of the men passed him, less than two feet away. The cloud of the man's sickly light made Jay shrink back against the phone booth in horror. Once, it might have been bright, once there may have been innocence, but now there was nothing but that deadly blue.

He had not been able to take his eyes off the tall man weaving through the crowd until he joined his 'friends.' When their combined lights closed in, they formed a tight circle. To the causal eye, they would have looked like bad asses for sure, but under Jay's trained mind, they were revealed as more. The truth shone as bright for them as for anyone else, even if they were trying to hide who they were.

Jay resisted the urge to run into the men's room and lose the fine airline food he had eaten on the flight from Chicago. The sense of dread was everywhere now, yet Jay knew these men were one of the keys that would lead him to his answers.

After a few moments, the group broke up, heading in opposite directions as if they had no previous association. Jay moved to the wall by the phone, wondering if his own fear might betray him to the men as they walked by. Two passed close, and he kept his eyes locked on them. There was something else in those lights...something else he recognized.

Jay focused his entire attention on one of the men, and started to follow them before he even realized his legs were moving. This one was the leader, he knew...he just damn well knew...and he scrutinized his aura closely.

The leader's aura was one of those rare lights Jay noticed every now and then. Two others among them also had that same prismed sharpness; the taller blonde man walking with the leader was very similar. But the leader's was stronger somehow. His light was rimmed in that horrid blue, but it was jagged, harsh and held very close. Whatever the reason for the special clarity of this man's light, it was obvious that he desperately tried to keep it hidden.

Jay blinked a few times and winced as the lights faded away, his vision returning to normal. He was starting to get a headache...

Leaving his companions behind and forgotten, Jay Malloy followed the two assassins through the crowded terminal, toward one of the parking garages and, hopefully, toward some answers.

* * *

Author's note part deux: Sources sited: The Red Dragon belongs to Thomas Harris and was chosen because he's one of the scariest/saddest villains in print. Kingpin belongs to Marvel and was chosen because Michael Clark Duncan is just so f-ing cool. :-) Thanks for those who threw out suggestions and added a little review along with it! 


	12. Chapter Eleven: Union Station part 1

Chapter Eleven:

_Union Station..._

The train station was packed with travelers as the last wave of rush hour commuters fought their way home. The din of footsteps and mingling voices was like a soft roar hovering around the large central section of the building.

Charlie did not mind the crowds. It was easier to get lost in crowds, easier to stay out of sight. As she had walked through the city toward her destination, a heavy feeling of dread was growing in her mind. She had been on the run for so long; it had become easy for her to distinguish between moments of paranoia and a true internal warning.

However, as she made her way to the ticket booths, Charlie kept her focus entirely on her task at hand, and did her best to ignore her nagging sense of warning. She approached the main ticket window and glanced over the people in front of her to read a large electronic information board listing the times of departing trains. Her eyes locked on one word, one city, _Toronto._ She shifted her hands to her pockets to make sure the money she had 'borrowed' from an ATM a few blocks away was still secure and ready to be spent.

Again, Charlie felt a small twinge of alarm in her chest, but with her goal suddenly so close, her mind strayed to a land of cold and snow...and hopefully...peace.

As the minutes ticked by, she eventually found herself face to face with a smiling teller behind a think glass panel. Charlie returned the grin wholeheartedly, but her voice cracked slightly over a sob as she said five words...

"One...for Toronto, Canada, please."

Then, just to confirm her decision to herself, she added, "One way."

* * *

As two assassins entered the bustling train station, the shorter of the pair tilted his neck slightly until he heard an audible and satisfying crack.

Logan's face remained hard and calculating as he scanned the moving groups of people who passed him and Creed. He repeated the cracking noise with his fingers, one at a time, as if ticking off some kind of countdown.

Creed also stood and watched the pedestrians carefully, though compared to his teammate, he made no sound at all. Creed's expertise was in stealth and hunting, and even though he kept his unruly hair cropped short, his face still resembled that of a stalking predator.

If either man had known what the future would hold for them, they may have taken their actions and appearance with a different stride. Though their features made were a vague semblance to their chosen nicknames, it would be the events of the near future that would change them with finality into Wolverine and Sabertooth. But for now...they were simply soldiers with a mission...that each suddenly knew may be coming to a close...

"She's here," Creed said in a low, almost growling voice.

Logan nodded, but otherwise did not acknowledge the other man. He drew in a great breath of air through his nostrils and then ground his teeth over a satisfied grin.

There was the scent of fire in the air. Under the scents of a sweating crowd, under the lingering remains of cigarette smoke on peoples' clothes and the exhaust of cars outside, there was the scent of the flame. Of ash...sulfa and ash...same as on the charred bus they had found on a remote highway outside of the city.

"You check over that way," Logan said, indicating the direction to the right with a barely noticeable gesture, "I'll start over here..."

Creed nodded, and he separated from the leader of his team...in search of their target...in search of their prey...

* * *

Unbeknownst to the searching assassins, another individual entered the train station nearly on their heels.

Jay had hailed a cab to follow the black car from the airport, and he had been so impressed by the man's eerie ability to pursue Jay's requested target, he had tipped the driver twenty dollars. Then, taking advantage of the cabbie's dazzled state as he pocketed the large tip, Jay had asked him to wait for at the curb. No use losing a great getaway car, even if he might not need it...and even if it cost him whatever money was in his pockets.

Before he stepped through the station's front doors, Jay had closed his eyes and allowed his inner eye to open. He knew he would probably regret using his special vision in such a crowded place, but he knew he would have a better chance at following those two men if he kept a lock on their auras.

Jay took one long breath and then immersed himself in a sea of life lights.

* * *

Charlene McGee sat quietly on a bench in the middle of Union Station. While her body language may have been one of poise and composed patience, the expression of triumphant joy on her face was enough to make passers-by smile in return. Her ticket to Toronto was held firmly in her hands as she waited for her train to begin loading. She considered herself surprisingly lucky tonight. The next train departing to the Canadian city was only a half hour away. A few hours after that, she would be free.

She barely noticed as an elderly couple sat down next to her. The gray-haired woman nodded and spoke quietly to her husband before he rose and headed toward the ticket window with slow, slightly limping steps. The older woman glanced curiously at Charlie, and narrowed her eyes with delight at the young woman's contained exuberance.

"Going home, dear?" the older woman asked, chuckling with kind merriment when Charlie jumped slightly, "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. It's just...well, you look so happy...I wondered if you were going home."

Charlie did not reply for a moment. Her heart was racing in her chest, but she smiled in return as the older woman continued to laugh softly.

"Yes..." Charlie finally replied, breathlessly, "Yes...yes, I'm going home."

"I knew it!" the older woman said, pointing at Charlie with one long finger, "You can always tell the one's who are going home. They always look the happiest. Do you attend one of the universities?"

Charlie started to shake her head, but paused, "Actually...I was at a university...in Colorado. But, it didn't work out."

The older woman pouted understandingly, "Ah, well. Not everything goes as we plan. Why did you leave? Do you have a _young man_ waiting for you at home?"

Again, the older woman raised an amusedly accusing finger at Charlie, who could not help but laugh at the woman's tone.

"No..." she said softly, and politely changed the subject, "Are you and your husband on your way home too?"

The older woman smiled broadly but shook her head, "No. _We_ are heading to _New...York...City. _Ask momma if she believes it...but these old bones are heading for the _Big...Apple_!"

She cackled again and clapped her hands.

"_Actually_..." the older woman continued enthusiastically, "My _granddaughter _and _her husband_ just bought a new _house_ in _New York City_," she stressed each significant word firmly as she spoke, "_My daughter_ _May_, who is _my granddaughter's aunt_, if you follow me, has lived in _New York City_ with her husband for quite a few years now. And _do you know_...this is the _first chance_ I've been able to _visit New York City_ since they moved? I _can't tell you_ how excited I was when _my granddaughter _invited us. But, I was _not about _to take an _airplane_. No, I much _prefer to keep my feet on the ground!_"

Charlie continued to smile, but inwardly was moved by the older woman's innocent excitement. Here was a person who had lived her life, a long happy life by the sound, who was now having an adventure...traveling to a far of city, one she may have only seen before in the movies. Such a strange concept to Charlie McGee, who had been running from city to city from the time she was eight years old. She saw so much in this woman she envied...and suddenly realized she may still be able to find that kind of peace.

Then the older woman leaned closer, like she was sharing a secret, "_Oh...and my daughter May _told me_, my granddaughter _hopes to have a_ baby _of her own in a few years. _Oh_! That would be a _corker!_ I would be a _great-grandmother!_ Though, of course, my _son-in-law Ben_ already says I'm a _great _grandmother, but he's just trying to flatter an old...Why, my dear, am I really boring you to _tears_?"

Charlie had not felt herself begin to cry as the older woman spoke so casually of her kindred, and she quickly wiped her face.

"No, no, of course not," Charlie said, waving her hand with an embarrassed grin, "It's...allergies..."

The older woman patted Charlie's arm comfortingly and then sniffed once. She gave Charlie a critical stare, but her smile remained.

"Maybe you shouldn't smoke then, dear?" she scolded kindly, "Whew...I'm afraid the smell is still on your clothes..."

Charlie shrugged and smiled, wondering vaguely if the woman would be so kind if she knew exactly where the smoke had come from.

"Actually," she said, "I'm quitting today."

* * *

The scent was stronger now. He was sure of it.

Logan narrowed his eyes and inhaled again as he searched the crowd. The station was large, and he knew they might only have a limited time to acquire the girl before she managed to get aboard a departing train.

He spotted Creed on the other side of the crowd, but grinned as the taller man began to head toward him.

Logan ground his teeth, and moved forward.

They were closing in on her. He _knew_ she was getting closer...

* * *

The minutes passed slowly until Jay spotted a flash of blue rising above the crowd. A wave of nausea hit him and he swallowed hard before making his way toward the source of that light.

_Blue...blue...blue..._

God, he hated that color. It was in the beauty of the sky, the majesty of the ocean, even in his own shining eyes...but he hated it.

Then, he spotted a familiar tall, blonde figure nearby. The man was marching toward the center of the station. His movements were smooth, almost graceful as he maneuvered through the people around him. It reminded Jay of a cat...or a lion...

He tried to follow the tall man's gaze, but closed his eyes painfully as a new light shone out above the rest. He covered his face, and choked back a scream. His inner vision suddenly felt like it was on fire, an inferno in his own head...

And then it was gone. Suddenly and completely, the lights disappeared. His inner eye had closed...but the afterimages were burned in his mind...

_It's her_, his battered brain insisted, in a voice that did quite seem like his own, _It's her...she's here..._

"But who is she?" he muttered, garnering some wary glanced from other travelers, "I don't even know what she looks like..."

That was when Jeremiah Malloy first spotted Charlene McGee.

Even without the help of his gifts...all he saw was her light.

And for a moment...time stopped.


	13. Chapter Twelve: Union Station part 2

Chapter Twelve:

At the same time a young Watcher spotted Charlene McGee, so did the leader of a small group of government assassins.

Logan's eyes fell upon the form of a young woman seated in the central part of the train station. She could have been just another traveler passing through this place, but his trained senses dispelled any doubt in Logan's mind that she was the one they were looking for. Despite her strange smile, the weariness in her mind and body was evident, by her dazed expression and by the tattered state of her clothes and duffel bag.

And, of course, by the very distinct scent encompassing the air around her.

A dark grin fell over Logan's features. He had no reason to hide his satisfaction at finding his prey. The only man in the room who would have posed a challenge to him was currently on his team. He glanced at Creed and made a wordless gesture toward the central benches. Creed nodded once in return and frowned deeply. Logan understood his frustration. McGee was still slightly out of their reach. They could not apprehend her peaceably in the middle of all these people. So, like trained predators...they would wait...until the time was right.

Through the mingling crowd, the two soldiers approached their target slowly, winding silent paths among the sheep.

* * *

For a few deaf moments, all Jay could do was stare.

He had no idea before then what he had expected her to be like. The apparition of the boy had not exactly given him details about 'Charlie,' except that she was indeed a she. To someone with who had spent a majority of his life studying demons, Jay could have described dozens of unnatural creatures capable of causing the type of extensive damage found in River Mead.

But those creatures would not have given off the kind of light Jay had seen around this young woman. And they would not have possessed the weathered beauty that now caught him so completely off guard.

Jay was jerked back to reality so quickly he felt like someone had just boxed him solidly in the head. _Wake up, boy...you got work to do..._

The quiet roar of the crowd rushed back to him in a wave, and even without the aid of his inner eye, Jay spotted the two men he had followed closing in on the center of the station. He felt his heart leap in terror and he realized they had also spotted the young woman seated nearby. She looked so damn happy sitting there with that old hen-pecker chatting her ear off...and who knew what those men of wrath had in mind for her.

Anger then, sudden and vicious, replaced any fear Jay felt. Even if 'Charlie' did possess the ability to burn down a small town, she did not deserve to fall into the hands of murderers. It had not been blue Jay had seen in her light...it had been a sickening yellow...shades of misery and guilt.

Without much thought of the consequences, Jay began to force his way through the crowd, wanting to reach the young woman before anyone else could. He composed himself as he drew nearer, his expression fading from fury into almost comical excitement. He did not want to alarm her, but he needed to get her attention...anyway possible...

"_Arleen!_" he cried out, sounding friendly and happy, "Arleen! There you are!"

Jay grinned as the young woman turned toward him in surprise and confusion. 'Arleen' had been close enough to Charlie's real name to get her attention.

* * *

Charlie felt her skin go cold as a voice spoke over the crowd. She had been certain someone had just called her name.

"Arleen!" a voice said again, and she turned her head and spotted a young man making his way urgently through the crowd. Charlie relaxed a little, assuming the man was looking for someone else, until he met her gaze and smiled broadly.

"There you are!" he said as he approached, placing his hands on his hips dramatically and taking a long gasping breath, "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Charlie's initial impression of the young man was one of absolutely bewilderment. There was no doubt now that he was indeed addressing her. Her second impression was an instinctive one, forged from years running. He had to be from the SHOP...or Systems Operations...or some other government agency coming to find her.

Again to her surprise, the young man began to address the older woman next to her.

"I can't _believe_ how crowded it is here!" he continued, and then glanced back at Charlie, "I thought I'd be looking for her all night!"

The elderly woman glanced over at Charlie for an explanation, and the expression on the young man's face became strangely desperate. She could only think of one way to reply...the only way that was safe...

"Leave me alone," she said darkly, glaring up at him viciously. If he was from the SHOP, he would know what she was capable of.

Surprising her for a third time, the young man felt down on one knee and began to plead with her again.

"Oh, Arleen, don't be like that," he said, exaggerating the natural drawl in his voice and leaning closer to her, "I just came to talk...I could let you go without _explaining_..."

Charlie's lips pressed together in a thin and suspicious line. She clutched her bag to her chest and glared at him. She noticed he was sweating, but not because of his previous sprint toward her. She frowned then, and tried to understand his motivation. How the hell did he know her? Was he just nuts and mistaking her for someone else?

Charlie watched as the young man glance nervously from side to side without moving his head. His eyes were intense, and she saw a kind of warning there. She glanced past his shoulder, and saw another pair of eyes watching her. They belonged to a very tall, blonde man slowly approaching her position. Unlike the young man before her, there was no emotion in the blonde man's face. Just like Rainbird when he would watch her...

She quickly met the young man's gaze again, and her eyes widened with understanding. She glanced over at the older woman, who was still watching Charlie and her 'friend' with interest.

"Oh!" Charlie suddenly exclaimed and stared back at her mysterious guardian, "Oh..._Cletus!_ I can't _believe_ you had the _gall_ to follow me _here!_"

The older woman was taken aback by 'Arleen's' sudden outburst, but a relieved and almost amused grin formed on 'Cletus's' face.

"I just had to, honey," the young man continued the charade dramatically, "I love you too much to just let you leave! But...you really..._really_ should leave with _me...now..._"

Charlie gasped as if she was appalled and turned her head toward the older woman.

"I apologize for his rudeness," she said and then glared at the young man again, "We should really talk about this somewhere else..."

Without waiting for his reply, Charlie grabbed her bags and began stomping away, her heart racing as she put distance between herself and the blonde stalker to her right. She sincerely hoped trusting the strange young man had not been a mistake.

* * *

Jay knelt stunned as Charlie shoved past him towards the front doors. He silently thanked his acting friends back at the university for apparently rubbing off on him, when he caught the older woman's critical stare.

"Oh, you better go after her, son," the older woman said, and then winked at him playfully, "And maybe consider buying her a few dozen roses later on..."

Jay grinned back and simply replied, "Yes, ma'am," before taking off after his beloved 'Arleen."

* * *

Creed had been close to McGee when a young man approached her. He frowned, listening to their conversation with his acute ears, and glancing over at Logan with confusion. Could their faultless leader have made a mistake? Creed ground his teeth together, and began to move toward their target quickly. He was tired of Logan's caution; he would find out himself whether or not this bitch was the Firestarter they were looking for.

He reached into the depths of his long coat and touched the firearm tucked into this belt. Stryker said McGee responded when she was attacked. Creed wondered if a bullet would instigate her to fight back.

* * *

Logan also watched the young man's conversation with McGee and frowned with confusion. From what Stryker said, she did not have any allies anywhere that were assisting her escape. So who was this new individual who seemed to know her so well?

His keen sight then locked on Creed. His teammate began to reach for his weapon as McGee and the young man walked toward the exits. Logan growled in frustration and began shoving his way across the station. Not toward McGee...but toward Creed. He would not have his mission compromised by 'Sabertooth's' impatience.

* * *

Charlie's mind was spinning as she walked quickly toward the entrance of the station. A sick knot was forming in her stomach, and she let her train ticket to Toronto slip slowly from her grip and flutter soundlessly to the floor.

Maybe someone else would pick it up. Maybe someone who was also on the run would find it. Maybe it would be someone who really was trying to get home.

Someone who did not have people following them...someone who could tell the older woman on the bench a true story of their life...someone who had the chance to live a real life...

Charlie felt bitter tears threaten to fall from her eyes, but she choked back her sorrow. She did not need sorrow right now. She needed strength. She needed to run.

She inhaled sharply and spun around as a hand closed on her arm. Before she could speak, she was pulled immediately forward again by the young man who had warned her of danger.

"No...no...keep walking..." he said quickly and matched her pace easily.

"Who are you?" she asked in a low voice, and heard the young man laugh nervously.

"Cletus...remember?" he replied and directed her toward the front doors, "I'll explain when we're outside...away from whoever those guys back there are..."

Then, a harsh scream rang out through the station, and all other voices fell silent.

"He's got a gun!" the random screamer cried out.

It took less than a second for panic to overtake the crowd, and hundreds of bodies began to move in all directions at once.

Charlie turned just as the tall blonde man raised his weapon toward her.

She saw him grin over large teeth as he pulled the trigger.


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Gunshot

Chapter Thirteen:

As the gunshot registered through the train station, the panicking mob fell to an eerie halt.

The screams and terrified voices faded into silence as the hundreds of random travelers stopped dead in their tracks. A few seconds passed, and all anyone could do was stare.

Charlie was standing near the entrance to Union Station, her right hand held out in front of her as if she had signaled the strange immobilization of the crowd. But, while everyone's attention was suddenly focused on her, Charlie's only concern was the bullet that had been heading toward her and the young man trying to help her.

The bullet _had_ been heading toward them...at least until a sudden wave of heat slowed its course and now held it suspended in mid-air.

Charlie waited, feeling the watching eyes around her, the weighted burden of her troubled life, and concentrated on the small piece of metal that had no other purpose in creation except to cause harm.

Her gaze slowly shifted from the weapon to its wielder, the tall blonde man who seemed to tower over the crowd. He also looked with surprise at the suspended bullet, but his face quickly twisted into a pleased grin. A dark haired man was now standing next to her assailant, his features wild and...oh, God...wolfish...

Charlie lowered her arm slowly, sensing the growing circle of space around her, which became larger as the wall of random people pushed backward in an attempt to not only get away from the bullet's path...but also the strange young woman who seemed to have the entire room entranced.

The tension was beginning to break. She could feel it. In another moment, the screams would start again, and the riotous exodus would recommence. But, before that could happen, she intended to send her violent stalkers a little message.

Without taking her eyes off the ferial pair, Charlie took one long breath and released her curse upon the crowd. There was a strange sound, like a vacuum forming in the area where Charlie stood, and suddenly a wave of heat blasted out across the room, knocking pedestrians from their feet and making the very foundations of the building shutter in protest.

She did not wait to see the reactions of those around her. She knew all to well what she would see in their faces. Instead, she turned and began to do what she did best...

...she ran.

* * *

Jay gasped as his feet were blown out from under him, and he hit the marble floor with a breathless cry of pain. He winced and rolled onto his stomach, just in time to see Charlie sprint past him in the direction of the exits.

As quickly as he could get to his feet, Jay began to chase after her. He glanced back over his shoulder only once, and spotted the two armed men stepping over the stunned travelers and heading in their direction.

Jay darted out of the open front doors and spotted Charlie running down the sidewalk to his left. He chased after her easily. He was quick runner, and he did not have a heavy duffel bag to slow his progress as she did. He caught up and grabbed a hold on her upper arm to stop her.

Charlie whirled around and Jay drew his hand back in surprise as a wave of heat nearly singed the palm of his hand. She glared at him viciously, almost accusingly, as if the scene in the station had been his fault. But, Jay just flexed his hand and grinned.

"Come on!" he said directing her toward his waiting cab, "Let's get out of here!"

Charlie gaped at him and shook her head, "_A cab? Are you nuts?_"

Jay shrugged and admitted, "A little. Come on..."

This time, he offered his hand, and Charlie took it without hesitation. She could still hear the frightened screams coming from the open doors nearby, and she knew the two men would be following her. At least a cab would be less conspicuous than her running on foot...even if her bizarre new chaperone did turn out to be certifiably insane.

Jay jerked open the yellow vehicle's door and let Charlie dive inside before he took the seat next to her. His dazzled cabbie friend folded up the newspaper he had been reading and glanced back at Jay with recognition.

"I was wondering if you were coming back," the cabbie said, "Meter's still runnin', ya know..."

"Yeah, I know," Jay said, the triumphant grin still lighting his face, "Downtown. Step on it."

"You got it," the cabbie said, throwing his car into gear and tearing out into the night with unbelievable speed.

The two passengers were thrown rudely from side to side, but were already putting distance between themselves and the train station when Logan and Creed appeared on the street.

Creed holstered his weapon and glared down at his team leader with silent contempt and satisfaction. Logan ground his teeth with bitter frustration at Creed's rash actions, but at least they had confirmed the identity of their target.

Logan drew a small radio from his jacket and called out to the rest of the team.

"This is Logan. To all team members. We have positively identified Charlene McGee. Prepare to continue search from target location alpha...respond..."


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Cab Ride

Chapter Fourteen:

As their cab sped quickly around the dark streets of Chicago, Charlie sat back against the torn cushions, holding her duffel bag to her chest and eyeing her unwanted companion warily. The young man kept glancing out the back window and then exchanging directions with the driver, until he finally settled into place, seemingly satisfied with their route and that they were not currently being followed.

Then, he began to laugh, softly at first, as if sharing a private joke with himself. But the noise quickly grew louder, and Charlie decided her first impression of him was the most accurate. He was nuts.

The young man wiped his eyes after a moment and grinned at her. Charlie glanced out the windows herself, more out of habit than necessity, and then glared at him fiercely.

"What the hell did you think you were doing back there?" she shouted with such fury in her voice that the young man's strange amusement faded.

"I just..." he began before she interrupted him.

"Shut up!" she shouted, "I didn't need your help! In a few minutes I would have been on a train, putting hundreds of miles between myself and those..."

"A few more minutes," the young man said darkly, pausing her tirade, "And Mr. Blonde and his buddy Short, Dark and Mean might have been escorting you somewhere you didn't want to be..."

"What makes you think I want to be _here_?!" she shouted again, almost accusingly, "You don't know me! I take care of myself!"

The young man's face had darkened into a bitter frown, but before he was about to give her another piece of his mind, their loyal cabbie called back to them with annoyance.

"If boy and girl don't stop fighting, I'm gonna kick them outta my cab!" he said, slamming one beefy hand against the steering wheel for emphasis, "Now! Kiss and make up!"

The young man next to her began to laugh again, shaking his head with embarrassment and looking over at her guiltily.

"You're Charlie, right?" he asked in a low voice with a small smile of apology.

The accurately labeled 'Firestarter' jumped slightly at the sound of her own name, and continued to glare at him over her belongings.

"How did you know that? Who are you?" she asked, just slightly over a whisper, sounding more dangerous then she had meant to.

The young man did not seem the least bit bothered by her ongoing hostility toward him. Instead, he turned toward her with childlike curiosity that was just slight more annoying than charming.

"Second question first..." he said, holding up two fingers emphatically, "My name is Jeremiah Malloy, addressed simply by the first initial of my first name. And yours is Charlie...and that's all I know about you," he leaned slightly toward her with a wry grin, and continued in a softer voice, "Except that you can stop bullets in thin air and I have to tell you that was pretty fucking cool..."

If Jay had been trying for a grin, he did not earn it, so he just kept talking. Charlie stared at him with open suspicion, so far entirely unamused by his rambling.

"First question second..." he went on, again indicating the numbers with his fingers, "I was told your name by an apparition. Like a ghost but this vision was of a living person..." she scoffed skeptically and Jay tilted his head and frowned, "This isn't bullshit, Charlie, so hear me out. This apparition was of a little boy...a little blind boy...who wasn't so blind, if you know what I mean..."

Jay saw recognition in Charlie's doubting face, but she remained silent while he continued.

"He told me you were in danger," he said, "He told me I should find you. So, I've traveled from England to Colorado and not to Chicago to find you..."

"Sounds like love to me," the cabbie chimed in unexpectedly.

His words surprised Charlie out of her bitter glare and she shot an uncomfortable look at the man next to her. Jay simply laughed again, and grinned. As if the expression had finally become contagious, Charlie also smiled and lowered her face into her bag as she felt her cheeks flush. When she finally looked up, Jay was looking at her soberly again.

"I'm part of a secret society known as the Council of Watchers," he explained in a low voice, "We were sent to River Mead to investigate what happened there. That's what we do. Investigate paranormal phenomenon and in general battle the forces of evil..."

He regretted his last words immediately when he saw that cold anger fade back into her face.

"_I'm not evil_," she said in a low but intense voice.

"One reason I'm not battling you right now," Jay offered repentantly, "Another would be that you'd probably kick my scrawny ass..."

Charlie's face was mostly in shadows, so Jay could not tell if his words were doing anything to alleviate the new tension between them. He decided he had better keep the conversation to the problems at hand and lay off the funny stuff.

"But, there do seem to be a bunch of somebodies out there who _are_ looking to start some kind of fight with you," he said quietly, "I think they're who your little blind friend was warning me to warn you about..."

"He's not my friend," Charlie shot back.

"You need an ally, Charlie," Jay insisted, "If you can really do the kind of things I saw in River Mean then you're gonna need..."

"I don't _need_ anyone," she said, and then glanced at him darkly, "And you don't need to know me. No one needs to know me. It only gets them killed."

Jay sighed heavily, "The Council is different! We can protect you!"

"What if I don't want protected?" she asked, her gaze falling to the floor.

"What do you mean?" Jay asked with confusion.

Charlie glanced over at him again, years of weariness and pain echoing in her green eyes. The expression spoke to Jay, and he understood with sickening certainty what she was thinking.

_What if I'm better off dead?_

There was a loud bang, and the cabbie cursed loudly as struggled to regain control of his vehicle. Jay immediately searched out the windows, expecting to see the two men from the station following them. Charlie was the only one who did not move, at least until the cab came to a complete halt. It had not taken much to pop the tires. Just a little bit of heat until the thinnest treads broke...

"I'm sorry, Jay," she said softly, meeting the young man's eyes, "But you can't help me. Good bye."

Charlie shoved the cab door open, and stepped out into the street. Jay called out and reached for her.

"Charlie, wait..." his words were cut off by a hiss of pain. When his fingers had reached her skin, the heat had been too great for him to keep his hold.

"I'm sorry..." he heard her mutter one more time before she slammed the door shut.

Jay quickly got out of the cab, ignoring the driver's annoyed barking about the tab, and started to follow her...before he realized Charlie was nowhere to be seen. He took a few deep breaths and turned once, staring in every direction in case he had missed her. But there was no sign of the transient young woman.

Jay put his hands on his hips angrily and kicked at the ground with frustration.

_Damn it,_ he thought, as he walked back toward the ranting cabbie and handed the man a considerable wad of bills, _If only I could get her to the hotel were the Watchers are staying. Once she saw what we could do...once she knew..._

Jay sat heavily onto a curb as the satiated cab driver called for a tow truck. He sighed and stared down at his hands. He slowly allowed his power to fill his vision, and regarded the lights dancing in his palms with vague interest.

_I should have told her, _Jay thought regretfully, _She would have known what the Watchers first told me...we're not the only ones with gifts..._


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Target Lost

Chapter Fifteen:

"Report."

Stryker's voice rang out over the dashboard radio, a private frequency that could only be unscrambled by members of his elite forces. Logan and Creed had been sitting in the front of their standard issue black sedan for barely five minutes before their commander called for an update.

By now, Logan's initial report detailing the events at the train station had reached headquarters. Most men would have been more than a little concerned about the consequences of failing a mission, however, Logan's team was not comprised of 'most' men. They were the best, and were not intimidated by Stryker's verbal reprimands.

"Team two and three have been searching downtown for the taxi which McGee and her accomplice used to flee the scene," Logan explained calmly to his commander, "So far they have been unsuccessful in locating..."

"Accomplice...yes," Stryker repeated with some disbelief, "When I received your report, I thought perhaps that was a mistake. What did you mean by accomplice?"

"A young man in his early twenties intercepted McGee before we could detain her," Logan explained, ignoring the scathing tone in the other man's voice, "He seemed to have recognized her and purposely identified us to her in the crowd..."

"Gentleman, this young woman has been living on her own for nearly a decade," Stryker interrupted, "Every piece of information we've gathered from Systems Operations confirms that she had no living relatives and no known acquaintances, except at her prior place of employment, none of whom she had lingering contact with. So tell me, who _exactly_ do you think this accomplice could be?"

"Maybe it's someone from River Mead," Creed answered with his rumbling voice, "Or another agent from that company...like Sforza..."

Stryker seemed to be considering this, but Logan began shaking his head.

"All the evidence we have indicates Sforza's involvement with McGee was done on his own," he replied, exchanging dark glances with Creed as they thought on their new opponent.

"Marko's interrogations of the Lot 23 boys also support that," Stryker said, "They also said Vincent Sforza was the only one aiding Charlie's escape from Rainbird..."

Both Logan and Creed straightened their shoulders and sat up respectfully at the sound of their mentor's name. John Rainbird had been one of top five assassins in the world until he began his obsession with the Lot projects. He had also trained the other four on the list of efficient hired killers, two of which were now searching for the object of Rainbird's obsession. Their slight shift in body language would have been the only respectful tribute he ever expected from his students.

"In any case," Stryker continued, "I want them found. Both of them. We'll worry about IDing the second target after McGee has been brought in for questioning. I want her found, gentlemen. And I want her brought here alive. At any cost. If her new friend gives you any trouble, then consider him expendable."

"Understood. Over and out," Logan replied and snapped the radio off before Stryker could say another word.

A deep frown crowned his face as Logan reached into his coat pocket for his phone. They had been sloppy at the train station. They had let McGee fall through their grasp with barely a fight. Logan had underestimated the young woman once. It would not happen again. He glanced over at Creed and nodded as he started the car and used his portable phone to call the other teams together.

The man who had earned the codename 'Sabretooth' was staring out into the passing night, cracking each knuckle on his large hands one at a time. A strange smile played on his face, a vicious gleam lighting his eyes as they began to hunt for the young Firestarter again. If there was one thing Creed lived for, it was the hunt. Not a quick grab and kill, but a real challenge in the urban jungle. He was secretly pleased that McGee had not been an easy catch, and he planned to be the one to hand her to Stryker in the end, even if it meant going against their team leader's orders.

On the dark streets of Chicago, three identical black sedans drove toward each other, regrouping before the games began again...

---------------------------

"Entirely unacceptable," Parks said angrily to the team of Watcher's around him and also to the assembly of Council members present via speakerphone.

"Please, just let me explain," Jay Malloy said, a request he had made repeatedly since meeting up with his associates again.

After his brief ride with Charlie, the loyal cabbie had driven him to the hotel where the Watchers were staying, commiserating with Jay the entire way about the loss of his 'girlfriend.' Jay had been politely amused by the man's teasing but inwardly had dreaded reuniting with the others. His current scolding had been unfortunately expected.

"Explain what?" Parks asked in a demeaning tone, "Explain why you neglected your post and the privilege of serving on this team to go gallivanting around Chicago?"

"Gallivanting, yeah, that's what I was doing," Jay replied with disgust as the lead Watcher continued.

"Each member of this team is responsible for the others," Parks said, glaring down at Jay for emphasis, "You were chosen for this team because the Elders believed you had the dependability and good judgment to..."

"Thank you, Edwin," a calm female voice, one of the referenced Elders, interrupted his rant, "I believe you have made your complaint quite clear. Jeremiah, if you have something to explain, now would be your chance to do so..."

Jay sat up in his chair and smiled broadly as Parks backed down from the argument.

"Thank you, ma'am," Jay replied to the speakerphone with relief, before taking a deep breath and continuing, "The reason I separated from the Council team at the airport was because of something my second sight had shown me. There were a group of six men at a nearby terminal, and when I opened my inner eye, all I saw around them was _blue..._"

"Blue?" Parks interjected, "Oh, well, certainly a reason to..."

"_Blue_...yeah, _blue_," Jay shot back, "And as the Elders, and _most_ of the members of this team know, for me _blue_ is a pretty clear warning sign of danger. Call it a hunch or vision or whatever, I decided to follow some of those men into the city. We wound up at Union Station and the two guys I followed started targeting the person _I believe_ is responsible for the destruction in River Mead..."

The rest of the present team exchanged surprised and doubtful glances as Jay went on with his explanation.

"Not a demon," he continued, "But a girl who can start fires. The girl named Charlie the apparition told me about. The reason our search turned east in the first place..."

"She said her name was Charlie?" the female Elder asked, an unease measure of concern in her voice, "She _told_ you she could start fires?"

"Yes and no," Jay replied, "I asked her if her name was Charlie and _I saw_ what she can do...with my own eyes, inner and outer. She stopped bullets in thin air and..."

"Bullets?" Rupert Giles suddenly chimed in with surprise, "When did bullets come into this?"

Jay glanced at him quickly, "The guys I followed started shooting at her. Well, at _us_ by that point..."

"Good Lord," Giles said, folding his arms over his chest, "Why do you think they were after her?"

"I don't know but when we find her again, we can..." Jay began until a new voice cut him off.

"We _won't_ be finding her again, Mr. Malloy," Travers spoke over firmly from his place with the Elders.

Jay's jaw dropped and he whirled back toward the phone, "_What? Why?_"

"Her name is Charlene McGee," Travers said, "And she is _not_ of concern to the Council."

"But if you had seen what she can do," Jay pleaded, "She needs our help. That's what we do, right? _Help_?"

"Not in this case, Mr. Malloy," another male Elder agreed with Travers, "We are quite aware of her gifts. We have known about her existence for many years. But, you said it yourself... she _is not_ a demon, and therefore, out of our jurisdiction."

"Whose _jurisdiction_ is she in then?" Jay asked angrily at the unwavering Council.

"There are other organizations who handle cases like hers," the female Elder admitted with obvious reluctance, "The Council has maintained a clear boundary with them for a long time. If you are certain that Charlene McGee is the cause of the River Mead fires, then I'm afraid this mission is over."

"Are you certain, Jay?" Giles asked his friend, "Because if you weren't sure, we could always..."

"No," Jay replied, his face twisted in controlled anger, "I am certain. I'm not gonna sit here and lie about that. But, if she's 'out of our jurisdiction,' or whatever, then I guess there's... nothing else to say..."

"I'm glad you are being cooperative in this matter, Mr. Malloy," Travers replied, "Council law must be adhered to at all costs. I expect the River Mead matter will be attended to by the proper authorities. Begin preparations to head back to England..."

Travers was still speaking, but Jay did not hear him anymore. The hot fury raging in him made the rest of the world seem numb and gray. The word of the Elders was the final word to any Watcher... but that did not make it the right word. Jay was bound by that code, and he would not demean his own worth by lying for the sake of his own gains.

But what about Charlie? Was the Council really going to leave her to the mercy of those men looking for her? It did not make any sense. She was gifted, like many trained by the Watchers. Why was she different? How could he help her if he was about to be shipped back to Europe...?

Jay's eyes widened slightly, and he was suddenly aware of the world around him again. The Elders were giving final orders to Parks, and began to say their farewells.

"Mr. Travers?" Jay called out before they could disconnect from the line.

"Yes, Jeremiah," Travers replied wearily, expecting another argument.

Jay kept his voice calm and cheery, "I was wondering if I might have a few extra days here to visit my family... since the mission is ending early and all..."

There was a brief moment of silence as the Elders pondered his request. Giles, Parks and the others of their team gave him measuring looks, but the weight of their stares did not faze Jay in the least.

When Travers spoke again, he opened his remarks with a reluctant sigh.

"Very well, Mr. Malloy," he said, "There's no reason why you should not be allowed to stay. You have certainly earned some personal time and I'm sure your family would agree that a holiday with them is overdue. However, you would do well to remember your position in the Council if you are thinking about continuing your investigations into the River Mead incident."

Jay nodded in acknowledgement, mostly for the sake of his present audience, and his face was a mask of practiced indifference.

"Of course," Jay replied, "Understood completely. And thank you, Mr. Travers... and the rest of the Council Elders. Can't tell you how glad I am to have a little vacation..."

There were a few chuckles earned by Jay's casual humor. The only two present who did not look amused were Parks and Giles. The latter was smirking and shaking his head sadly, knowing full well that his friend was planning more than just a holiday to Nebraska.


	17. Chapter 16: Afterthoughts

Chapter Sixteen:

The sound of dripping water echoed beneath the dank overpass, an artificial rain shaken down by the steady traffic than ran over Charlie's head.

She sat in the shadows against a stone wall. Her legs were tucked to her chest and her forehead lay limply on her knees. The night had turned cold and she was shivering, a problem she could have rectified with a thought and a little dry kindling, but she dared not use her powers just yet.

_They'll be looking for a fire,_ Charlie thought quickly, _They'll be looking... A fire... Any fire... My fire... Can't start one... They'll be looking..._

The words cycled through her mind over and over, warning, maddening, and only magnified by her exhaustion. She had no sense of what hour it was or how much time had passed since she ran from the taxi and her strange rescuer. Her only instinct now was to hide. _They_ were after her again. She could not let _them_ find her...never again... never again...

_And who are _they, _Charlie?_ Another voice called out in her mind, _Do have any real idea who _they _are?_

Charlie raised her head and stared forward at no one. There were no tears in her tired eyes. She had cried enough during her first twenty years of life to last her decades more. Yet, at the sudden sound of that inner voice, a sob threatened to escape from her throat.

It was the voice of her mother that questioned her so insistently. In reality, Charlie had not heard the voices of either of her parents since she was eight years old. But it was her mother who spoke to her now. Maybe next time, it would be her father's voice. She supposed this was what psychiatrists meant when they said someone was haunted, hearing the voices of the dead. It was a label Charlie was willing to take, because as much as her memories could hurt, there was comfort in those anxious words as well.

_Who, Charlie?_ The voice prodded on, _Who are _they? _Do you even know anymore? Do you even know why you're running?_

"They want to hurt me," Charlie muttered to herself in a small voice, "They hurt you. You and dad. And they hurt me. They just wanna keep hurting me."

The inner voice did not reply immediately. Every word Charlie spoke was the truth, and even the most rational part of her mind knew it. There had been nothing but running and pain in her life since the SHOP first kidnapped her and killed her parents, something in her still insisted... something was not going to let her get away with old excuses so easily...

"They all want to hurt me," Charlie continued, "Everyone just wants to hurt me..."

Not everyone, the inner voice of her mother spoke up again, Not everyone. Think about the Manders. They tried to protect you and your father. They took you in after you escaped. Think about Richardson. His intentions were good... though misguided. Think about Vincent... 

"Vincent is dead," Charlie said flatly, "He died because of me."

_Think about one from the train station, _her thoughts continued, _Think about him. Why did he help you? Don't you wonder about that? Aren't you the least bit curious about secret society he spoke of?_

"Just more of the same," Charlie said, "Just one more group of people who are looking for power."

_Is that how it seemed?_ The inner voice persisted, _Did he really seem so insincere?_

"No," she admitted reluctantly, "Of course, Oscar season is coming up..."

A bitter laugh exploded from her throat. The sound reverberated back through the tunnel. It was horrid in Charlie's ears and she fell silent.

_And if he was telling the truth..._ she finally thought on her own, _He couldn't have any idea what he'd be getting himself into. Council or no Council. It'll be best if I never see Jay Malloy again..._

_You remembered his name_, the voice of her mother cried out quickly. Her mother had always liked to have the last word.

"Oh, shut up," Charlie said irritably at her own noisy psyche.

She got to her feet slowly, stretching out her numb legs and hoisting her duffel bag onto her back. It did not matter what had happened at the train station. All that mattered was that she got away. She would keep getting away. Nothing in her plans would change.

North. North. Nothing mattered but getting north.

Charlie walked as fast as she could out from the underpass and kept her feet moving forward despite of her weariness. Rest would have to wait. Despite her questionable ally from the cab, there were still others searching for her in this city, which meant she had to put as many miles as she could between herself and Chicago before daybreak.

"I don't suppose it would do any good to insist you use your 'vacation time' wisely," Rupert Giles said with a heavy sigh.

He was cleaning his glasses as he spoke (a habit the young man would carry far into his adulthood) and leaning casually against the doorframe that joined his soon to be vacated hotel room with that of his friend.

Jay imitated Ripper's sigh and smirked as he shifted his unopened luggage from one trolley to another.

"Relax," Jay said confidently, knowing Giles would not take that small word of advice until they were all back in England, "I'm just going to see my folks, beat up my little brother once or twice, and take in some good old Bible-belt air before I head back to Stuffy Central..."

Giles regarded him with absolute suspicion, served with such pure English indifference that Jay immediately cracked under the pressure.

"And..." Jay began slyly, "If I happen to do a little extracurricular activity and run into a few old friends... or one... particular...new... friend..."

"Then you will be removed from your studies at the Council for insubordination and I shall be forced to thrash you within an inch of your life for leaving me to face the horrors of future field studies alone," Giles completed the thought quickly without losing an inch of his outer apathy.

"Horrors?" Jay asked with raised eyebrows, seeking clarification.

"Parks...and his elder-arse-kissing lackeys," Giles replied with a dark frown.

"Of course," Jay shot back, and then added with a grin, "I'd hate to see them settle you down and make you a librarian or something..."

"Not bloody likely," Giles said in that typical 'Ripper' fashion, and then looked somber again, "This is... was... your first real investigation, Jay. Don't defy the Elders now and make it your _last_."

"Point take and appreciated," Jay affirmed quickly before shaking his head, "I have to find her, Rupert. Don't ask me why...cause I couldn't tell you why. I don't know. Maybe it is all just because this is... _was_... my first chance to really show what I can do. Everybody wants to do well on their rookie outing...but..."

Giles watched him curiously as Jay shook his head again with frustration.

"I think there's something else..." Jay admitted slowly, "Something that even has the Elders nervous. I wanna know why Charlie is _so different_ than the other gifted girls the Council helps."

"I wish I could tell you," Giles said, "I've put my trust in the Elders. And you should do the same."

Jay sat down heavily on the bed nearby and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. He _did_ trust his teachers at the Council. He could not remember one time they had ever mislead him in his studies. The ancient histories and arts were there to discover and the Elders always encouraged him to excel. Yet, there was a nagging doubt in his mind, one he knew he would not be able to ignore, even if he skipped his 'vacation plans' and left America now with the rest of his team.

"I do trust them," Jay said aloud, getting to his feet and walking to a nearby window to stare out at the city, "But I trust my instincts more..."

Giles made a rude noise through his lips and guffawed, "Aren't we a tad arrogant."

Jay turned back toward him a grinned, "What? I'm not allowed to be egotistical sometimes?"

"Sometimes...right..." Giles replied with a smirk, "If I recall... your instincts were what made you start a fist fight with a Cromlax demon only last month..."

"He started it," Jay defended himself.

"And then you tried to kick it in the genitals..." Giles continued.

"How was I supposed to know it reproduced by mitosis?" Jay shot back.

"And then when it picked you up by the toes and began twirling you around like a baton..." Giles mused.

"Aren't you leaving yet?" Jay asked, throwing his hands up in the air wildly and scowling, "If you're ever a real Watcher, I hope your Slayer ends up being a cheerleader..."

"Again," the young English man repeated, "Not bloody likely..."

Giles took a step forward and held out his hand, which Jay shook once in a gesture of farewell.

"Good luck, Jay," he said, "See you when you get back to London."

They both headed down to the lobby area, where they met up with the rest of their team. Bellboys were loading their luggage and equipment into a line of black limos. Jay lifted his own bags and moved to the street to hail a cab. He gave Giles and the others one last wave before they were coached off to the airport.

It would be over a decade before Jeremiah Malloy saw anyone from the Council again.


	18. Chapter 17: Discord in the Council

Chapter Seventeen:

Quentin Travers was rubbing his eyes wearily as he walked through the halls of the Watcher's Council. The team returning from the United States would be giving him a full briefing on their findings when they arrived, but he had learned as much as he needed, as much as he _wanted_ to know from the earlier phone conference with the elders.

He knew what he had to do next, but that certainly did not mean he was looking forward to it.

When Travers reached the end of the hall, he drew a swipe card from his pocket and ran in through a device attached to the wall. A soft chime indicated his authorization to enter, and the hidden elevator doors slid open. He stepped inside and pushed the button for the lower levels.

While the Council of Watchers did specialize in the study of magics, ancient texts and supernatural phenomena, they also maintain a solid understanding of mechanical technology. Strictly scientific pursuits were always encouraged as well as the metaphysical. The ancient creatures that occasionally became a threat to the world's balance usually had ways to defend themselves from magical or psychic attacks, but were utterly clueless about modern weaponry. Such as lasers, nuclear fission... or rocket launchers. Therefore, a good portion of the lower levels had become laboratories for those students and Watchers with a flair for science and technology.

Travers sighed heavily as the elevator reached its destination and opened to reveal a long hallway. His shoes clicked audibly against the metal floors as he walked forward. The lights were harsh and bright overhead, much different from the soft glow of expensive lamps used in the rest of the Council's headquarters. Travers turned one sharp corner and once again reached for his swipe card.

Another soft chime filled the air, and a large pair of doors hissed apart. Travers entered the room and glanced around critically. The space was immense, easily five stories in height from floor to ceiling with large metal staircases and ramps lining the walls. In the center of the room was a large metal sphere, given its form by dozens of square metal sheets which were held together by masses of intertwining wires. Positioned at the base of the sphere was a single metal chair, upon which sat an odd looking machine, designed specifically for one individual to wear.

"Quentin," a polite voice said from nearby, "Good morning..."

Travers turned, his hands clasped firmly behind his back, and looked slightly relieved when he saw who was speaking. Charles Xavier smiled at him politely, maneuvering his motorized wheel chair toward his visitor.

"Hello, Charles," Travers replied, "I'm surprised to see you down here this early..."

"Early..." Xavier repeated with questioning and then glanced at his watch and laughed, "Actually, for me it seems to have gotten quite late..."

"Here all night again, were you?" Travers jested with a grin, "If only our new students were as dedicated to their studies as we always were, eh?"

Xavier nodded, "Yes, well... we nearly have it functioning. I was hoping to run another test today. Please..."

On his last word, Xavier gestured for Travers to follow him down toward the bottom level of the room. Travers glanced at the machine again uncomfortably, knowing better than to put on a false act of approval in front of Xavier. The man was one of the Council's most powerful (if not _the most powerful_) psychic and putting on airs in front of him would have been pointless.

The room echoed as Xavier spoke again, "I believe we have located the initial problem we were having with the homing mechanism. The new adjustments should allow me to search for individuals from even greater distances than before. Not only sensing their presence in a general area but actually pinpointing their exact location just by their unique mental signature..."

"I heard your last test gave you quite a migraine," Travers remarked, his tone still friendly, as if sharing an old joke.

Xavier's face remained serious, "A small price to pay for the great advantages this machine will give us..."

"Indeed," Travers said, and then frowned up at the sphere, "What did you call it again?"

"Cerebro," a new voice called out from above, "Rather clever, don't you think?"

Travers struggled not to wince and shifted his attention to the man walking confidently down one of the metal staircases.

"Hello, Erik," Travers replied as the other man approached, "Good to see you again..."

Erik Lensherr returned the greeting with a polite, though slightly forced smile. It had never been a secret that Travers and Lensherr grated each others nerves, ever since their early years in training with the Council. Xavier always seemed either not to notice the tension between the two men or chose to ignore it, the latter being more logical considering his gifts, but he did prove to be a good buffer for their irritation during such conversations.

"Yes, welcome back," Lensherr replied, "Come down to check up on our little experiment?"

"Among other things..." Travers said and then turned back toward Xavier, "Actually, I might have a target for you to search for if you are interested in giving your _Cerebro_ a real test."

"Oh, yes?" Xavier said, looking interested, "Possible potential?"

"No," Travers answered quickly, "Locating potential slayers is not my biggest concern right now. However, the target is a young woman of great power..."

"What sort of power?" Lensherr inquired, folding his arms over his chest.

"_Great_ power," Travers replied firmly, not able to keep the annoyed glare out of his eyes. Lensherr did not react to the man's tone, but waited with practiced patience for him to continue.

"You believe she may have an active 'mutant' gene," Xavier said, not needed telepathy to know why Travers evaded Erik's question.

"We don't know that for certain," Travers said, though his tone suggested otherwise, "There is a chance her abilities could be artificial or she may even be part demon..."

"Which would be much preferred than her being a mutant," Lensherr interrupted with a dark frown, which Travers ignored.

"Do you have any other information about her?" Xavier asked curiously, "The more details I have, the easier it will be for me to identify her..."

"Last known sighting was in Chicago," Travers reported begrudgingly, "We suspect she can manipulate fire, and has used it to defend herself..."

"How do you know this?" Xavier asked with frustration as Travers danced around the truth.

Travers sighed, "The team dispatched to Colorado to investigate the disturbances there followed a lead to Chicago, where one of them intercepted her..."

"Someone actually _witnessed_ her gifts?" Lensherr asked with undisguised approval, "Who may I ask..."

"Jeremiah Malloy," Travers answered before Erik finished. Lensherr nodded and smiled, suddenly understanding why Travers seemed especially irritated this morning.

"I see," Xavier said, "And where is the team tracking her now?"

"They're not," Travers said firmly, "They've been ordered back."

"For God's sake, why?" Lensherr interjected, "If this child does have these powers, she should be brought here..."

"The elders have made their decision in this matter," Travers said, giving Lensherr a warning look, "They feel it is in the best interest of the Council not to pursue her any further..."

Lensherr moved to speak again, the anger obvious in his hard eyes, but Xavier sent him a mental message to pause.

"If that is their decision," Xavier said, "Then we will honor it. But I think we have the right to know why. Especially considering that you are requesting that I use Cerebro to locate her..."

"The elders want to be sure that she is not a direct threat to anyone," Travers said, "You will get an impression of her intentions if your machine works as you say it can."

"I should be able to reach her mind, yes, but..." Xavier said, and then paused, "...what if I do deem her a threat?"

"Then the proper authorities will be notified," Travers said darkly, "As I said, the Council has otherwise deemed the matter closed. Let me know when you have prepared for your test..."

Travers began to walk away, and Lensherr watched him go with suspicion. Xavier rubbed his temple and sighed. They were both growing tired of Council politics and their attitude toward most matters. Once Travers exited the lab, Lensherr turned toward Xavier, his face a mask of suspicion.

"Proper authorities..." Lensherr muttered with disgust, "We're getting more reports like this everyday. Gifted individuals whom the Council disregards because of this genetic anomaly they're so determined to ignore. The one we also possess, may I remind you..."

"I understand your frustration, Erik," Xavier replied, "But be assured by your own work instead of worrying about the elders' restrictions. I'm certain the Cerebro will also be able to single out those with the 'mutant' gene, so the Council will be able to see that it is more than a passing phenomenon..."

"Their inaction is what frustrates me, Charles," Lensherr said, "We have two dozen departments dedicated to the study of the Golath prophecies, written in a language that has been dead for two thousand years, and we pass off gifted individuals existing now to the proper authorities..."

"And that is exactly who has the elders nervous..." Xavier replied thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?" Lensherr asked with a frown.

"The authorities..." Xavier explained, "Quentin was not talking about the police, or fire department in this young woman's case. He was talking about something much more dangerous... the one thing he couldn't keep out of his mind, no matter how hard he was trying..."

Charles Xavier looked up at Erik Lensherr and spoke two words that explained everything.

"Lot 6."


	19. Chpt 18: Searching

Chapter Eighteen:

_Where are you?_

Logan stared at the computer screen in front of him, a deep frown creasing his brow as he studied a computerized map of the areas surrounding Chicago. He was sitting on the passenger side of the nondescript black sedan, which all secret organizations seemed to prefer on covert missions.

The team was divided between two cars; Creed and Marko accompanying Logan in the first, while Dolarhyde and Fisk followed in the second as they sped north onto Interstate 94.

Logan knew where Charlene McGee was headed. She had quite recklessly dropped her ticket during the brief conflict at the bus station. She had been planning to go north, into Canada. Perhaps she thought crossing the border would keep her safe from her pursuers.

Normally, U.S. authorities would have no jurisdiction on international soil. However, treaties and governmental laws did not restrict William Stryker and his operations. He had earned the place vacated by the defunct department of D.S.I. known as the SHOP, and that gave him and his teams certain privileges.

_We'll follow you over the straights and into Russia if that's what it takes_, Logan thought, as if he were sending a warning to McGee herself.

Logan glanced up once from the screen as Creed maneuvered the sedan onto the interstate. The first sign they passed read, _Milwaukee 70 miles_.

_

* * *

Where are you? _

Jay Malloy sat cross-legged on the bed of his motel room among a pile of paper maps and scowled. His frustration would have been comical to any onlooker. The Watcher-in-Training was fighting (and losing) against stubborn folds and static to keep the documents flat.

He had no idea what he was looking for. The maps had been purchased from the lobby of the hotel where he had been staying with the rest of the team. Unfortunately, Jay's current financial situation did not support staying in the five-star joint another night.

The Watchers left him with enough money to get to Nebraska, visit his family and hit a flight from Omaha back to England. Sneaky solo investigations that could get him expelled from training had to be funded on his own.

After a few more minutes of map wars, Jay shoved the pile away from him with a sigh of disgust and rubbed his temples with his fingertips.

_Great plan, Malloy_, he thought sarcastically, _Terr-rr-rr-rr-ific. I don't know why you thought finding one chick in one of the biggest cities in the country would be hard. I mean, I don't want to say needle in a haystack but..._

"But, I'm a cocky son of a bitch who thinks he knows everything," he muttered, "And what I don't know, the dead will tell me... if they feel like it..."

Jay closed his eyes and felt his second sight take hold. When he looked around the room again, he sighed unhappily. The room was clean. Absolutely frigging clean. Out of all the cheap, sleazy motels in the city, he apparently picked the one run by nuns. No dead men here to tell tales.

Jay jumped off the bed and stretched his back, trying to figure out some way to locate Charlene McGee again. Short of her starting an unexplainable fire and then waiting for media to show up and broadcast it, Jay really had no leads.

After a moment of thought, Jay glanced to the corner where he had dropped his luggage and considered one option he had been trying to avoid. He took a few steps toward the bags and paced around them broodingly.

Along with clothes, his toothbrush and a healthy supply of clean underwear, Jay had brought along another staple of his Watcher life. He picked up his suitcase and set it down on the bed. With tentative care, he unzipped the cover and searched through his belongings until his hands touched a leather-bound book.

It should not have been there. All regulations state clearly that students are not to meddle outside a supervised setting. Watchers were only to use magics under necessary circumstances and never for personal gain. Trainees were certainly not permitted to bring spell books with them on their first mission... especially an outlawed spell book that he had found during a late night adolescent dare to get a mythical stash of scotch from the cellar.

Jay looked down at the book with something akin to nostalgia, but the strange expression on his face could have easily been confused with hunger. He did not bring the book with him to be brazen or rebellious. Jay kept it with him because he had to... because he _needed_ to...

His friends knew about the dangerous prize. Of course they knew. He had gone out for alcohol and come back with something better. They had all been fascinated by the forbidden text, but Jay had not let anyone else so much as touch the pages. Surprisingly, Giles had been the one to warn him of the consequences. First sensible thing ol' Ripper had ever done. Got him going down the right path instead of the road to juvenile hall...

Jay would never admit it. Not even to his friends. He talked about the book so casually. But he never talked about the need. Never talked about the times woke up at night just to make sure it was still hidden in his closet. Never talked about the spells he had tried. Never talked about how the spirits, those he could so easily see, would shriek in horror as he read the words over and over again...

"What's the harm?" Jay muttered to himself, "What's the harm? I'm doing it to help. Have to help Charlie. The little blind boy said so. Charlie is in danger... Charlie needs help... Charlie is power..."

Jay opened the book and flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. A locator spell. Nothing fancy. Certainly nothing dangerous. What's the harm? What's the harm?

The lights in the motel room flickered as Jeremiah Malloy began to chant. The words fell from his mouth like rusty nails, sharp, bitter, leaving a coppery taste on his tongue that was almost like blood...

The maps he had shoved to the floor began to writhe as if in pain. The paper became almost fluid, almost alive as it curled along the floor. The red and blue lines of highways and interstates began to leave the pages and rise toward the ceiling. Jay's eyes, glowing with the power of his second sight, began to change. The subtle inner light grew bright, shone out unnaturally from his face...

His irises pulsed and expanded until there was nothing but blue...

blue...

blue...

Hated blue...

Murderous blue...

There. There. Something was there.

Jeremiah was lost in the power around him. He reached out and grabbed a pack of matches from atop the television set. He let go of the spell book, which continued to hover before him, and struck one sulfa tip against his palm. There was a moment of pain, but it was a minor sensation among the storm of magics.

Jeremiah held the burning stick in his fingers and stared into the flame.

There was power. Yes. Oh, yes, he felt it now. The book seemed to hum with pleasure as the fire burned. The flame departed from the match's head and moved toward the intertwining mass of roadways.

Jeremiah watched. Jeremiah saw. He saw the flame surround Chicago, and then move north. North. North.

_That's where she's going, Jeremiah,_ an inner voice said to him urgently, _That's where she's going. They want her. Get to her first. They'll hurt her. You must save her. Save her. Jeremiah... our boy... our special boy..._

_...Bring her to us..._

...The hovering flame began to grow, consuming everything on the maps, heading down every roadway, until everything in its path was burning down...

* * *

Jay opened his eyes and grumbled unhappily. He was sprawled across the bed, surrounded by a pile of crumpled maps. His luggage was still piled in one corner, untouched and unopened. 

With a groan of protest, Jay got to his feet and stretched his back. He head hurt like hell. God, he must have fallen asleep in a weird position.

"Way to kick off the recon, Malloy," he muttered to himself, "Not like north is that hard to find..."

_North..._ the word repeated in his head though he had no idea why, _North... north... she's heading north..._

* * *

Charles Xavier let out an audible gasp as he opened his eyes. 

The experimental machine he dubbed 'Cerebro' hummed noisily around him. It took Charles a moment to catch his breath before he took the odd looking helmet from his head.

His heart was beating rapidly in his chest as he came down from the rush of psychic energy that the machine had focused into his mind. It was not the first time he had attempted to use the proto-type Cerebro, but he decided it would take years before he became accustomed to it.

Once he had composed himself, Charles maneuvered his silver wheel chair out of the machine's metallic skeleton and toward the exit. Erik, as he expected, was waiting for him in the hall.

"Well?" Xavier's colleague asked with obvious impatience, "Did it work? Did you locate the girl? What did you see?"

Charles offered his friend an amused grin and replied, "Yes... No... and I'm not sure."

"Not sure?" Erik repeated with surprise, "I hope it is not paining you too much to admit that."

Charles accepted the jibe and nodded, "It was clearer than last time, for certain. I could tell you what the Queen in having for lunch, if you would like to know. But, both Miss McGee and Mr. Malloy are still out of my range."

Erik considered this quietly for a moment, folding his arms over his chest and marching toward the machine. The sphere was a thing of beauty, metallic plates molded by his unique gift to harmonic perfection. He was loath to admit that perfection needed a little tweaking in order to sync with Xavier's telepathic ability.

"Perhaps..." Erik began thoughtfully, "Perhaps... there is a way to single her mind out from everyone else. Give you something to focus on."

"I suppose that's possible," Charles replied, "If I had met her before, if I knew of something in her mind that could distinguish her from those around her, then I may be better able to pinpoint her location..."

"Like only focusing on those with the mutant gene?" Erik interjected quickly, causing Xavier to sigh resigningly.

"I'm not sure I could be that precise," Charles said, "Her power over fire may not even originate in her mind..."

"Still think she might be a demon, eh?" Erik asked with obvious displeasure.

Charles shook his head, "No. I don't believe that at all. I'm simply saying... those involved with the Lot 6 program were exposed to a number of variables not related to genetic mutation..."

"Lot 6," Erik interrupted, "Lot 6 triggered mutation in Dr. Wanless's test subjects. You saw the same tapes I did. Psychic and telekinetic abilities inherent in all human beings brought out by the enzyme they used! I thought we agreed on that fact!"

"Yes," Charles replied calmly, "However, we have never ascertained what Lot 6 was exactly. That young woman's parents were directly exposed to it before she was conceived. There is not telling how it has effected her own genetic makeup."

Erik glared at him for a moment, a deep-seeded and vicious anger in his eyes. Then, he sighed heavily and folded his arms over his chest. His expression softened and he grinned at Xavier.

"You know, that's the one thing I don't think I will ever be able to tolerate about you, Charles," he said, "You are far too cautious when the time comes to act."

His associate shrugged, never losing his own civil exterior, "We watch... and we are always here."

"Yes..." Erik agreed begrudgingly, "We are always here..."


	20. Chpt 19: Declaration of War

Chapter Nineteen:

Charlie hated walking.

She hated the heavy duffel bag on her back.

She hated the endless miles of asphalt that slowly wore away of soles of her shoes.

She hated the smell of exhaust and rubber.

She hated the unhealthy, straggly trees lining the roadways.

She hated the stares of the passing motorists, even if she could not see their faces.

Nothing had meaning. Nothing had purpose. Nothing mattered.

The only thing keeping her from stepping into traffic were the voices in her head, memories of her father urging her on, encouraging each step, waking her up because they had to run...

Charlie really hated walking.

Once, when she was younger, she had considered trying to steal a car. Not anything fancy, just a junker from some dealership that would not miss it for a few days. Something that could get her farther in a few hours than she could get in a week.

But, it would have been wrong. It was wrong to steal. Sometimes she would manipulate ATM machines for cash if she needed it, if she was desperate. But she could not bring herself to physically break into an automobile and drive off. Her morals may have been screwed up by her shitty life... but she still tried to stick by them.

Charlie pushed on, trying not to think about anything but her destination. The cold. The snow. Some peaceful, empty place where she could just stop. Just rest. God, all she wanted to do was rest.

The interstate was not congested, but Charlie felt a familiar sense of claustrophobia settling around her. Danger was still close by. She was slowly accepting the fact that she was going to have to face those men from the train station again before this was over.

River Mead had been too much. She must have really scared somebody, maybe some high-ranking somebody alarmed enough to dispatch a team to find her already. Last time, it had been nearly a month before she noticed the unmarked cars passing through town. But those had been Rainbird's spies. Rainbird had been cunning, trying to lure her to him with the promise of money from a bogus company.

Whoever was in charge of those men in the station was obviously not concerned with subtly.

_Let them know this is a war, Charlie_, her father's dying words rang heartbreakingly in her mind, _Let them know this is a war... if that's what they want... then give it to them..._

At the next exit, Charlie headed off the highway. The green sign directing travelers toward the next town burst into flames as she walked passed. She was quite finished with subtlety herself.

Once she was upon a secondary road, Charlie continued to set random road signs on fire. Startled drivers veered and curved away from the flames, but Charlie simply kept walking.

She really hated walking. No. She hated _running_.

And the time for running was over.

* * *

Creed smelled the smoke first. 

Logan was still engrossed in his maps, planning, strategizing. The man did not rely on his own senses and instincts nearly enough, in Creed's opinion.

The scent stirred something ferial in the blonde assassin, and he hit the accelerator until their speed began to top ninety.

Logan growled angrily at Creed's recklessness, "Slow the hell down. We don't need local P.D. on our ass if..."

His voice trailed off. Logan breathed in deeply through his nose. He smelled it now too. Fire, the sharp scent of burning metal. It was getting stronger as they drove closer to the source of the flames.

When they reached the next exit, Creed pulled the car out of the main flow of traffic. The second vehicle carrying Fisk and Dolarhyde also slowed to a halt.

Logan slowly got out of the vehicle and walked toward the burning sign. Creed was on his heels, jerking his head from side to side as if he expected an attack at any moment. The other three Carnivores were close by, each studying the sign curiously.

"Don't tell me our little girl did this?" Fisk asked with amusement, his booming voice rumbling with laughter.

"She's frightened," Dolarhyde chimed in, his face dead-pan, "She letting her gifts get away from her. No discipline..."

"This wasn't an accident," Creed said with anxious glee.

"Are you kidding?" Fisk replied, "Chick's gotta be scared shitless now that she knows were looking for her..."

"Clever prey," Creed said, "Just clever prey..."

"Come on, man," Fisk argued, "Why would she just run off and leave us a big 'bitch-was-here' sign? Unless..."

He paused, glancing around at the others with dawning comprehension. Fisk was the youngest of their group, still wet behind the ears, no matter how many men he had killed. The others were predators by nature, and it took Fisk a moment to realize what they were thinking.

"Unless..." Logan continued for him after a short span of silence, "She wanted us to see this. Unless she knows we are still following her. This isn't an accident, gentlemen..."

Logan glanced toward Creed, who grinned broadly with anticipation, and then turned his eyes back to the fire.

"This is a declaration of war."


	21. Chpt 20: Time to Stand

Chapter Twenty:

Jay gripped the steering wheel of his rented sedan firmly as he sped northward on Interstate 94.

He usually avoided highways when he was traveling. Too many people, all congested in one place, all surging forward at high velocities, all trying to beat everyone else to where ever they are going. Jay had learned to drive on the empty lanes around his parents' farmhouse. Urban commuting was definitely not one of his fortes.

There was another reason he avoided heavy trafficked areas. They also had a higher frequency of accidents... and a higher mortality rate.

Jay needed to find some clue as to Charlie's exact location, so as he drove, he opened his mind, his inner eye, and searched for a sign. Unfortunately, his special sight showed him more than he wanted.

In the swirling ether, Jay would see remnants. Very specific remnants... echoes of fatal accidents suffered on this stretch of road. Normal motorists were spared the horrid visions of burning cars and mangled bodies. But, Jay was not normal. And he saw...

The hidden colors of the world swam before his eyes in a grotesque kaleidoscope. The spirits of the living... the souls of the dead... all mingling together in the unnatural flow of modern automobiles.

They wandered. That was the worst part. The dead wandered up and down the roadway, oblivious to the real traffic, even oblivious to each other.

They wandered. And then they caught sight of Jay. He figured he must give off some kind of vibe when he uses his gift that catches their attention. Give them something to look at, something to do besides wander.

Jay struggled to keep his attention on his own driving. His head was beginning to pound from the effort needed to keep his inner eye open. He did his best to ignore the ghostly stares watching him from the road's shoulder.

_This sucks..._ Jay thought to himself, _This sucks... I hate highways... I really hate highways... Where the hell are you Charlie, cause I don't think I'm going to be able to keep this up much longer..._

Without warning, Jay slammed on his brakes. The cars that had been trailing behind him blared their horns and threw him a variety of rude gestures in protest of his sudden stop. The smell of hot rubber was lingering as Jay threw the car into reverse. If he had been paying attention, he might have noticed several wandering spirits wince in chagrin. They were dead, but even they knew better than to do that.

He pulled onto the shoulder and stopped near an exit ramp. He gaped for a moment at a charred road sign. Only one small corner had not been melted. Thick, black smoke still rose from the smoldering wreck. The remaining green paint was bubbling and running, and a sharp, chemical scent filled the air.

It had not happened long ago, or else an interstate repair crew would already be on the scene. The fire had been very hot, very fast, and under enough control not to affect the straggly roadside trees.

Jay stepped out of the car and glanced around for other signs of Charlie. He did not see any trace of her aura nearby. She must have been in a hurry when she left the highway.

Jay frowned and took a few steps toward the exit. In the gravel, he spotted two sets of tire marks. Two cars had stopped here not too long ago, and then drove on down the ramp. Not that he had any crazy wilderness tracking skills. The whole stretch would have looked like nothing but gravel, if not for his gift. What Jay saw was the fading blue light in each tread mark. It was the same blue light that danced around the assassins from the train station.

He dashed back toward his car and jumped inside. Jay maneuvered the vehicle onto the exit ramp and then froze. There was someone sitting next to him.

The fading ghost of a young man was in the passenger seat, staring blankly forward. Jay waited, ignoring the angry shouts of other exiting motorists. The ghost slowly turned its head, until its empty eyes were pointed toward the training Watcher. Then, it slowly lifted one hand and pointed away from the highway.

Jay nodded, conveying to the fading soul that he understood its message. The dead young man turned his head and stared forward again as Jay began to drive.

As soon as he hit a secondary road, the ghost disappeared. Jay shivered and then sighed with relief. Nothing against ghosts... he really appreciated the little hints they threw him every now and then. But sometimes, they still gave him the jibblies.

* * *

_This will do_, Charlie thought as left the road and walked through a small group of trees. 

Beyond the foliage was a wide, secluded field. There were no houses or large buildings nearby. The tract of land stretched on to the left and right as far as she could see. Tall metal structures supporting dozens of power lines were placed every few hundred yards, their unnatural hum testifying to the amount of electricity flowing into the Chicago suburbs.

The field was out of sight of the main road, but Charlie had left her pursuers a few flaming clues as to the direction she had gone. The sense of energy in the air coupled with her own readying power made her shiver with anticipation.

_This is it,_ Charlie thought, _After all these years... After the SHOP... After Rainbird... After Vincent... After every empty day of running and running... This is where the war will start..._

Her father's final words rang in her mind reassuringly as she waited for her enemies to appear. Let them know it's a war. Don't let them do this to anyone else.

But they had done it to someone else. While Charlie ran, Rainbird passed his mad curse onto a new generation of children. Six had survived. Why did she leave them? Why didn't she do something sooner to make it stop? Why didn't she make sure Rainbird was dead before she ran from the SHOP the first time, when she was barely ten years old?

No more running. If she did not destroy her new enemies, Charlie would make damn sure they never took her prisoner again. Time to stand. Maybe time to die.

"_Charlene McGee?_" a voice called from the trees.

Charlie turned and watched as five men stepped out of the shadows. They walked in a V-formation toward her, readying for attack. They each looked ferial in their own way. Each obviously very powerful in body, and very willing in spirit to do what was needed to capture her. At the lead was the shorter, dark haired man from the train station. His expression was hard, his strangely disheveled hair making him look all the more vicious.

Charlie did not move from where she stood. There was no fear in her eyes as the five assassins formed a loose circle around her. The wind had picked up over the long field. Charlie's long hair blew away from her face like a mane. It was still dark red, but she knew the blonde would start to show at her roots again soon. That was fine. She did not plan to hide who she was anymore.

"Charlene McGee," the leader repeated without question. The taller, blonde man to his left grinned broadly over his unnaturally large teeth.

"It'll be better here," Charlie said, "No people... no witnesses... less work for your sweep cleaners when this is over..."

She glanced around at the five men. When she spoke again, her voice was loud and commanding. It would have been intimidating under normal circumstances. Her current audience was not so easily rattled.

"I'll only say this once," Charlie said to her pursuers, "I don't care what they told you about me. It doesn't matter if they told you what I can do. Just believe me when I say that if you don't leave, I will use it. Leave... _or I will kill you_..."

The leader nodded once, a strange admiration on his face. Charlie hated that look. It was the same Rainbird always had.

"You know something..._I do believe you..._" the leader said, his lips pulling away from his teeth in a mad grin.

Without the courtesy of a warning, Logan charged.

* * *

Author's note:

Quick thanks to X-Over for the review. As for the Scoobies... this story is set about 25 years before the Buffy-verse series. Giles is a young trainee, along with my orig character Jay. Xavier and Magneto are involved with the Council but they are becoming a little disenchanted by the Council's apathetic stance toward the newly identified mutant phenomenon.

Yeah, I like to make my fics complicated. This is a prequel to the X-Books I'm working on. There will be more Buffy stuff in later X-books (book 6 featured Oz and Harmony for a bit).

Thanks again for the review!


	22. Chpt 21: Confrontation

Author's note: Yep. Fights scenes are the most difficult to write. Hope you all enjoy.

Quick note on present characters: This story is set appox. 25 years before the first X-men movie/Buffy-verse/Daredevil movie. Prequel to the rest of my fics.

Logan, Creed and Marko – all characters from the X-Men movies/comic

Fisk – Daredevil villain 'Kingpin'

Dolarhyde – From Thomas Harris's book Red Dragon. Also a pretty good movie.

Charlie and Jay – If you don't know who they are, read the rest of this story again :)

Hope there's no confusion. On with the show...

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One: 

Jay's head was throbbing as he made a sharp turn onto an open lane. The sun was glaring down on his windshield, forcing him to squint and blink away the daylight's after images. Every now and then, he would pass a burning sign or mailbox, which confirmed he was heading the right way.His stomach knotted with anxiety as the fires became more frequent. Why the hell was she doing this? Even if she had no idea anyone was following her, why would she risk using her gift so blatantly?

It was like putting down a trail of breadcrumbs for anyone who wanted to find her. Why would she leave anyone hints as to her direction... which had lead off the main road... away from residential areas... almost daring her enemies to confront her...

"Shit," Jay said simply, pressing down on the accelerator.

Charlie was calling the big men out. Her guns were drawn, and she had taken her warning shots. Jay just hoped he could get to her before any real conflict started.

* * *

When Logan leapt toward her, Charlie took a step back in surprise. She had expected them to have guns or tasers or anesthetizing darts. No one had ever dared to challenge her directly before. 

She held up her arms defensively as Logan's heavy hands clamped onto her shoulders. He gave her one hard shake. Charlie's head snapped back painfully and she cried out with alarm. Her power stormed feverishly from in her mind. Years of practice and control had given her a mental leash that kept the fire under control. She knew it was time to let the animal out.

Charlie jerked her body forward. Her eyes were wide with fury and the air around her seemed to glow. Logan immediately registered the change in temperature but did not have time to move before a burst of fire shoved him off his feet. His body flew about a dozen yards before skidding across the grass.

His teammates watched the exchange without a hint of distress. Logan had obviously suffered several major burns. His clothes were smoldering and the sideburn on the left side of his face was partially missing.

Charlie was breathing quickly, forcing the fire to obey her commands. She held a hand out in front of her again threateningly, and called out to her attackers.

"See?" she said, a touch of panic evident in her voice, "I warned you! Now, leave me alone! Just take him and go! Just leave me alone and I won't..."

Charlie felt her words catch in her throat as the lead assassin began to stand up.

Creed could not help but grin as the scent of the girl's fear filled the air. There were very few people who had ever witnessed Logan's secret gift. Most of them were now dead. However, it certainly served well when they needed to shut up cocky little bitches like this Firestarter.

Once Logan was on his feet, he locked his dark eyes on Charlie and a rumbling growl bubbled from his throat. The burns running down his body were blistered and red. Logan wiped a trickled of blood from his face, ignoring the pain as a familiar tingle began to pass over his skin.

Charlie gaped as his injured flesh began to mend. The bristling hair on his face was regrowing. The burned skin now exposed on his side and abdomen was becoming paler until all signs of her attack had faded.

Logan turned his head and spat once, clearing his mouth of lingering fluids, and then gave his men one simply order.

"Get her."

_

* * *

...BLUE... _

Jay cried out and covered his eyes as the bright ethereal light flashed from a line of trees nearby. His head rocked back in pain as his supernatural senses were overwhelmed. His car careened off the road and Jay hit the brakes blindly._...BLUE..._

_...BLUE..._

He really, really hated that color.

Jay pressed his hands against his head and ground his teeth together. Hundreds of voices echoed mournfully from everywhere, from nowhere. He heard, but he did not hear. He saw, and he did not see. Invisible forces battered his psyche with cold hands as Jay struggled to get his powers under control.

It was like nothing he had ever felt before. Human beings were not built, physically or mentally, to deal with the sensations that were stirring around him. He needed to close his mind... he needed to shut it off...

_...help her jay... help her... take her with you... take her home... bring her to us..._

* * *

Creed did not need to be asked twice. 

Upon Logan's direction, he circled quickly around the girl and directed the others to do the same. Marko and Dolarhyde stared at her with cold, empty eyes. Fisk moved cautiously. This was his first mission dealing with the sort whom Stryker had started to distastefully call 'mutants'. Still, his expression was one of anticipation, not fear.

Charlie's heart was racing and she took one long breath to calm herself. These were not the glorified security guards at Systems Operations. They were not even reaching for their guns. They were here to take her down, beat her into submission and bring her in. If that did not work, she had no doubt they would kill her.

Creed attacked first. He swung at the Firestarter with one heavy fist. Charlie ducked, slipping on the damp grass and falling onto her back. Creed moved quickly, reaching for her with his other hand. He was not able to get his fingers close before they erupted into flames. He roared and backed off.

Marko and Fisk moved next, charging at the same time in order to grab her before she was able to get to her feet. Charlie did not even turn her head as she unleashed a wave of fire toward them. Both men were forced to veer away from their target.

Charlie closed her eyes for a moment and concentrated. A ring of fire lit a circumference of grass around her protectively. The barrier offered Charlie the chance to get to her feet, but it did not deter her attackers for long.

"What glory in the flame..." Dolarhyde muttered strangely to himself. Logan threw him a vicious glance. There was something in the taller man's voice akin to awe... or madness.

Logan growled at Dolarhyde and then pointed to the fire, "Get a hold of her. I'll get the tranq ready... we don't want to let her think she has any chance at escaping..."

"She burned _you_..." Dolarhyde reminded Logan. His inflection was odd, his words always awkward, but Logan did not miss his meaning.

The taller man walked toward the circle of fire. Charlie did not notice him immediately. Dolarhyde began to step through the flames. His clothing began to burn, but he did not seem to feel anything, even though he was not gifted with the same healing power as his commander.

Charlie gasped in surprise as Dolarhyde's arms wrapped around her shoulders. She struggled to break away, the air around her skin growing warmer each time she thrashed. Incredibly, the tall man still managed to drag her out of her protective shell. Charlie could smell the man's hair as it began to singe yet he continued on, oblivious to the pain.

With one mental shove, Charlie sent another blast of fire from her body. Dolarhyde flew backward, loosing his hold on her. Charlie hit the ground hard. Her right elbow jerked painfully as she tried to cushion her descent.

The grass around her hands instantly began to blaze. Creed was upon her before she could recoup. The large blonde man wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her farther away from the fiery circle. Charlie felt the wind leave her lungs as Creed squeezed her abdomen in a rude bear hug.

_...fire... fire... fire..._

Wave after wave of power radiated from her small form. Creed was forced to drop her again upon the burning grass, and Charlie gasped for air. Heavy smoke covered the immediate area, stirring in gray clouds toward the sky. Charlie gagged when she inhaled, her chest tightening painfully from the ash.

She managed to stand again and looked around for the next attack. Her eyes were watering, an unnatural gloss impairing her vision. When Fisk swung his arm toward her, Charlie never saw it coming.

Fisk's knuckles cracked audibly against her head. Charlie did not make a noise as she fell to the ground again. Her ears rang from the blow and a trickle of blood burned as it ran into her eyes.

"G'night, bitch," Fisk announced gleefully, "Shame I had to mess up your pretty fac..."

His words were cut short as Fisk began to roar. His leather boots began to melt as they burst into flame. Charlie was doubled over on the ground, now half-blind and struggling to breathe. The fire continued to grow.

Another rolling wave knocked her attackers from their feet. She was letting go of her control, allowing power to escape freely. The electrical wires hanging overhead began to sway as the air pressure changed.

Logan shielded his face from the high temperatures as he crawled through the charred grass. The smoke canopied the girl protectively and made it impossible to follow her scent. Logan reached out sightlessly with searching hands to find her. He could hear Creed and Marko exchanging words in an attempt to regroup. Dolarhyde was down, and Fisk would probably think again before trying to physically assault the Firestarter.

The girl was going to burn herself out before she surrendered. Stryker wanted her alive and in one piece. Logan just needed to get close enough to sedate her. It was the same formula Rainbird had used on her as a child. Her power dissipated when she was unconscious.

Charlie felt her left eye beginning to swell as she fought to stay awake. Memories of her father flashed through her mind.

The Manders farm... she had only been eight years old... they had been running... the SHOP agents found them... one shot at her daddy... the fire came... the fire consumed... her daddy told her to stop... she said no... the fire burned... her daddy smacked her once across the face, trying to wake her up...

... wake up, Charlie... get up, Charlie... stand...

...stand, Charlie... it's a war, Charlie... don't let them win...

"Charlie..." she heard a voice say from nearby.

"Daddy?" she replied, her voice soft and high, like a child, "Daddy..."

Someone repeated her name. Charlie rolled over onto her stomach. The lead assassin's face appeared in the smoke, so much like the wolf in her dreams. She felt nauseous as she looked at him.

"This is the end," Logan growled, "There's no where to go..."

Charlie held out one hand and a controlled ball of fire burst toward him. The flames passed inches from Logan head but did not deter his progress. Charlie pushed herself backward, her injured elbow protesting the motion.

After a short distance, her feet hit something solid on the ground. There was a grunt of pain and then Dolarhyde began speaking to no one.

"I've seen the power," he muttered deliriously, "The power of the flame is second only to the dragon. If the dragon can master the flame, he will be indestructible..."

Charlie felt other hands grabbing her from the left, and Creed's voice rumbled with amusement.

"No daddy here, little girl," he said with a sneer. His keen ears had not missed her quiet mistaken replies to Logan's calls. Creed delighted in her terror cry of terror.

New panic rose in Charlie's chest as the assassins closed in. Her head was pounding from Fisk's punch, making it difficult to focus the fire onto the approaching enemies. Creed's large fingers closed around the back of her neck and held her in place.

Charlie thrashed back and forth under his grip. She noticed for the first time that the lead attacker had a syringe in his hand.

"Let me go..." she managed, "I won't... you'll never take me... I'm not going back..."

Logan did not speak as he jammed the needle into her arm. Charlie felt the world begin to swim. One of the attackers flipped her onto her back and she stared upward. The electrical lines swayed dreamily in the smoky air.

Charlie shifted her eyes across the field toward one of the metal towers. She would not be taken. Somewhere in her mind, she let go of the leash.

Logan and Creed were on their feet, staring down at the girl with satisfaction.

"Pick her up," Logan ordered quickly, "Get her to the cars. Once she's secure, we'll radio ahead for the clean up team. Marko, you and Fisk get Dolarhyde out of sight and then..."

The sound of screeching metal filled the air as the closest metal tower began to crumble.


	23. Chpt 22: Escape?

Chapter Twenty-Two:

_...BLUE..._

_...BLUE..._

_...BLUE..._

The color continued to flash before Jay Malloy's eyes as he shoved through the woods. Each step made the pounding in his head worse. The ghostly blue light he hated so much became brighter as he approached an open field.

Was it really all coming from those assassins... or was some of that light coming from Charlie as well?

Jay stumbled over stray branches and the wet underbrush as he moved. He used his hands to guide him through the trees. It was not long before he could smell the grass burning. He quickened his pace, making his way toward the field. He could hear rumbling voices shouting to each other.

_...BLUE...BLUE...BLUE...BLUE...BLUE..._

The sense of hate washed over him again. Wrath... violence... rage. It was all he could feel. It was maddening, to the point that he just wanted to cry out for someone to stop it, someone to close his eyes, the light was unbearable, and he just wanted someone to make the light stop...

Jay burst out from the woods and fell heavily to the ground. He gasped, trying to catch his breath. The world was strangely dark, yet he still saw blue.

A thick plume of smoke interrupted his view of the clear sky. It took Jay another moment to realize he was lying on his back, staring upward. His inner eye had been slammed closed and he was looking at the real world again.

As he sat up, the screech of metal echoed over the field. Jay turned toward the noise, his eyes widening when he spotted the battle for the first time. There were four men still standing, and two fallen forms lying at their feet. The smaller figure must have been Charlie. The assassins' attention was diverted from their prize as one of the electrical towers began to crumble.

Jay watched in horror as live cables tore away from the upper tiers. The wires fell to the ground, dangerously close to the combatants. He saw the four men scramble, grabbing those on the ground and dragging them away.

From Jay's position, he could see that the dark haired assassin was the one hauling Charlie away from the live electrical lines. He began barking orders to the others as a second tower began to fall. Each metallic structure was literally being eaten alive by the inferno.

"_Get back!_" Logan screamed to the others as the lines began to fall, "_Get your asses out of there! I've got the girl! Head back to the cars before the police get here..."_

Logan roared as his arms began to burn. He released Charlie's limp body and then dropped to the ground himself, snuffing the fire before it had done much damage. He didn't understand it. That anesthetic should have knocked her out cold. Yet, the area around them continued to be destroyed. How was she still doing this under such a heavy sedative?

The falling cables had cut him off from the rest of his team. Logan reached for Charlie again and pulled her toward the trees. Her head lolled forward and her eyes were closed. Her breathing was quick, pulse racing in her chest. When new flames burst from Charlie's body, Logan was forced to drop her for a second time.

"_Son of a bitch!_" he growled. There was no way he would be able to drag her through the woods while she was so hot. The underbrush would be engulfed before they reached the cars.

It would only be a matter of minutes before local authorities arrived on the scene. His team needed to clear out quick. But how was he going to get the target back to Stryker in this state? The grass around Charlie's unconscious form was already turning to ash...

Under normal circumstances, Logan would have known of Jay Malloy's presence the moment he stepped onto the field. Fortunately for the training Watcher, the smoke was inhibiting the assassin's supernatural senses.

Jay moved low behind the trees, approaching Charlie and her kidnapper. He watched as Logan made several failing attempts to move the Firestarter. Jay could not help but grin gleefully at the assassin's frustration.

Unfortunately, Jay also shared the other man's dilemma. How would he get Charlie out of here without being barbequed? He thought back on his studies. Many demons had a close relationship with fire, and Watchers were trained in a few basic protection spells just in case they were unlucky enough to meet one. Jay wondered if that sort of thing would work for Charlie, without subsequently killing her.

But, first, Jay needed to get her away from the lead assassin. He glanced to his left and spotted a fairly hefty branch just within the edge of the woods. He moved quickly, grabbed the makeshift weapon and continued to move closer...

Logan ground his teeth with frustration as a second metal tower collapsed. A mass of fallen electrical lines hissed nearby. Each time they touched the ground, the wires would spark and snake into the air.

Each moment of inaction made escape less possible. Logan glanced down at his arms. The long sleeves of his jacket and shirt beneath were almost entirely gone. He continued to heal, the sensation of pins and needles running down his skin as it changed from red to pink and then to something more like his true skin tone.

He wondered how much damage his body could take and still completely heal.

Logan reached for Charlie one last time and hauled her into his arms. The heat was immediate. Logan turned toward the patch of woods and began to run.

Her pyrokinesis came along for the ride. The bare skin of his arms rippled in pain as Charlie's body continued to burn. The Firestarter remained immune to the element, an eerie orange light pulsing around her.

Logan's movements were strangely fast, with a kind of animal instinct. He stumbled once, growling through his teeth. Approaching sirens could be heard in the distance.

Logan struggled against the inhuman amounts of pain rolling through his body. The last of his jacket and shirt had been burned away. All of the exposed skin was blistering as it was raked with fire. His pace was becoming uneven, slowing, but he maintained his hold on the target. He was not going to let her get away.

When a tree branch was suddenly smashed in his face, Logan's weakened body was thrown back and he hit the ground. Charlie tumbled from his arms and landed beside him. Fire continued to pulse from her body and the underbrush began to burn.

Jay's hands were shaking as he lowered the branch cautiously and moved toward the fallen pair. The heat was too intense for him to get close. Jay felt nauseous as he stared down at the lead assassin. The man's skin was charred, almost peeling from his body. The young Watcher could not imagine how anyone could be trained to withstand such injury.

Logan was still breathing and stared up at Jay with clear, bitter eyes. Most of his hair had been singed away and his mouth was too parched to speak, but the fury on his face was unmistakable.

"Hey, buddy," Jay said anxiously, "No offense but... you're fucking crazy. Just thought you should know..."

There was obviously nothing wrong with Logan's hearing as he glared at Jay and, amazingly, struggled to sit up.

"Don't move..." Jay said, crouching as close to Logan and Charlie as possible, "I'm gonna try something. It's gonna sound fucking weird... but it should stop the fire. At least... if it doesn't kill us..."

Logan's eyes were glassy as he listened to the younger man speak. He had no idea what the boy was talking about and he did not care. Instead, he focused on his own body, detaching from the pain and waiting... apprehensively... to see if he would indeed be able to heal from the severe burns. He could taste blood in his mouth from the boy's ignoble sneak attack. If he ever got to his feet, he planned to pay the boy back.

Jay took a long breath and held one hand toward Charlie. She was still beautiful amidst the destruction, even under the layer of soot and the large bruise covering her eye. He prayed to God or the Powers that Be or whoever was listening that the protection spell would not have any negative affects on her.

The spell was brief but intense. The magik words felt heavy and unnatural in Jay's mouth. There was a small flash of light, which expanded over them like a bubble. He frowned in concentration and, with a few more choice incantations, the sphere of light floated toward Charlie and surrounded her.

The affect of the spell was immediate and Jay sighed in weary relief. The temperature of the air around them dropped dramatically as the source of heat was isolated. Logan managed to turn his head slightly and watched the spell take hold with honest surprise.

"...in...uts...go..." he mumbled through his burned mouth.

Jay frowned and took a step toward the assassin. The man was horribly injured. It would take years for him to recover, under normal circumstances. Unfortunately, Logan was not normal and his condition caused Jay to make one classic mistake. He approached the seemingly defeated enemy.

"What?" Jay asked as he crouched in between Logan and Charlie, "Probably shouldn't try to talk, man. I'll call in and make sure the police get an ambulance down here. I'd hate for them to miss you in all the..."

"Min...uts...go..." Logan tried again and for some odd reason began to chuckle. Unbeknownst to Jay, the assassin began to feel those welcome pins and needles running over his skin. He was healing, though very slowly.

Jay ignored Logan for a moment and reached out a hand toward Charlie. The protective shell was confining the heat and Jay could actually touch the young woman's skin without pain. He let out another sigh of relief and heard the assassin try to talk again.

"...Could'a... minutes... ago..." Logan muttered.

Jay glanced back at him with a frown.

"Could'a...used..." Logan tried to articulate, "Could'a...used...that...a few... minutes... ago..."

The assassin let out another pained laugh as Jay finally got the joke. Yeah, this guy must have been fucking crazy.

"Yeah, right," Jay replied and then stood up. He picked up Charlie's slight form, as Logan had earlier, but the fire did not get beyond the protection spell.

Jay began to walk away and then cried out when a strong hand clamped around his ankle. He stumbled but stayed on his feet. He glanced down and met Logan's furious gaze.

"Find...you..." Logan growled as the skin around his mouth began to heal, "I'll find you. Got your scent at the station, bub. Find you... kill you..."

Jay kicked at Logan's injured arm and wrenched his leg free. He took a few steps backward in fright. The bristling hair on Logan's head was regrowing, the blistered and blackened areas of his skin visibly changing.

"Holy shit..." Jay muttered. He turned away from the assassin and ran.

Logan leaned back again and laughed. The sound was not pleasant. The sirens were closer now, but there would be no need to call an ambulance. Logan did not plan to be here when the authorities arrived. It would only take a few more minutes until he could get to his feet.


	24. Chpt 23: Next move?

Chapter Twenty-Three:

_10 hours later..._

William Stryker tapped his fingers audibly against his desk as the three uninjured members of the elite mercenary force known as the Carnivores marched into his office. His expression did not reflect his anger at their failure, mostly because of the condition of their leader. The _improving_ condition of their leader, to be precise...

Creed, Marko and Fisk stood at attention and waited for Stryker to speak. All three had changed from civilian disguises to something more appropriate for their military ranks. None of them seemed anxious about confronting their commander. Each met and held Stryker's scrutinizing gaze in turn. The rhythmic tapping of his fingertips was the only noise in the room.

After another few moments, Stryker sighed audibly and leaned forward onto his elbows. A single manila folder lay open in front of him, containing one brief typed report and a series of photographs taken only a few hours before by the Illinois State Police. The pictures were all very dramatic, some with crumbled electrical towers and cables, others showing firefighters tending to smoking patches of trees.

The police report indicated that the source of the fire was undetermined; no trace of explosives or flammable liquids had been found at the scene. An electrical malfunction was the suspected culprit, pending further investigation.

Stryker sighed again and leaned back in his chair. He removed his wire-rimmed glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose with his fingertips.

"Well..." he said finally to his waiting audience, "I've got to say... Miss McGee excels at giving our P.R. people something to do, eh?"

The three soldiers did not visibly react to Stryker's words, though each would have admitted they did not expect him to sound so amused. When their commander replaced his glasses, he had a strange grin on his face.

Creed frowned deeply. He had been prepared for a reprimand, some furious verbal assault about liability, civic duty or carelessness. After all his time in the military, lectures by his 'superiors' (like the shorter man behind the desk) became nothing more than quacking in his ears. They could shout whatever they wanted. Creed knew he was one of the best.

But, Stryker was different. Always had been different from other men in command. And his sudden bout of humor was almost enough to make Creed (and the others) nervous.

"Tell me what happened," Stryker said firmly, looking at Marko first.

"After leaving Chicago, we headed north on Interstate 94," Marko began evenly, "We assumed she would continued to head to the Canadian border. A few miles outside the city, we spotted a suspicious fire at an exit ramp..."

"She was leaving us signs," Fisk chimed in without invitation, a wide grin broadening his mouth.

Stryker did not correct the interruption and Marko continued.

"...We followed the trail until we found the field. She was waiting for us. Alone... and unarmed..."

"Not unarmed," Creed corrected in his deep voice, "...and _not_ alone..."

"What information have you gathered about her _rescuer_?" Stryker asked, steepling his hands curiously.

"He hasn't been identified yet," Marko said, "We have surveillance video from the train station. His photo is being analyzed and compared to known Systems Operations employees. However, considering what Logan's said..."

"...the boy's a complete anomaly," Stryker concluded and then fell silent.

The minutes ticked by slowly. While the others seemed to be pondering on the situation, Fisk shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He did not like these brooding stretches of thoughtful consideration. After seeing what McGee could do, he really did not want anything to do with this mission anymore. The power that had come from the girl made him feel weak, helpless and seriously consider a change in occupation. He would never have enough discipline to make general or even colonel. Fisk was a young man, in respective comparison to his teammates, and he wanted to live a long, _and rich_, life. He had no interest in being barbequed before he made his first million.

"He couldn't have just come from nowhere," Fisk said, no longer smiling, "McGee must have made some allies during her years of running. I mean, that kid just _carried her_ out of there, right? Isn't that was Logan said? The kid just picked her up and walked away. He must've known something about her we didn't. I mean... you saw what the bitch did to Logan..."

Stryker nodded, "Yes. I have seen him. And that is indeed how he recounted McGee's escape. You should all be pleased to know that both Mr. Logan and Mr. Dolarhyde are expected to make a full recovery. There will be another debriefing tomorrow with reconnaissance. They are ensuring that the authorities and the media have the _correct_ information about today's events. I expect Mr. Logan to be in attendance..."

"You've gotta be kidding," Fisk remarked as Marko and Creed exchanged knowing glances, "That guy didn't have much skin left when we found him..."

"Nevertheless," Stryker continued, "This situation will be investigated further, but I don't expect we'll be making any direct encounters anytime soon. She knows how to run. And now she has help. Once she is located, additional action may be authorized. Though it is apparent that we will need more than _your_ expertise in this matter."

Creed and Marko remained stone-faced at Stryker's criticism, but Fisk was obviously relieved. Fisk had no intention of being anywhere near this team for the next encounter with McGee. He had more profitable, and less lethal, pursuits waiting for him back in New York City.

"Gentlemen," Stryker said as he stood from his desk, "You are dismissed."

Creed threw the commander a dark glare as he left. Stryker smiled in return, his thoughts lingering on Logan and his team. Fisk had not been exaggerating about Logan's condition. No man should have survived those burns. Yet, he was alive, conscious and healing very quickly.

Stryker paced around his office and considered soldiers like Logan, Creed and maybe even Cain Marko. He thought about Charlene McGee. He thought about the Lot project boys. He thought about the recently discovered 'mutant' genome and its possible connections to the pituitary gland, the same gland activated by the amino acids in Lot 23.

For the first time, William Stryker began to consider running his own little experiments...

* * *

_London, England _

Charles Xavier gasped as the proto-type Cerebro powered down around him. He glanced around, watching the lights of the metallic sphere fade. He felt a sudden twinge of disappointment as his session ended and his mind returned to the confines of his body.

A pleased smiled settled over his face. It had worked. Cerebro had worked. Erik's new modifications were better than Xavier had expected.

A door hissed nearby as Charles removed the makeshift helmet from his head. He turned his chair around to face Erik Lensherr, who strode into the room with quick, confident steps.

"So?" Erik asked simply, a smug grin on his face.

"It's closer," Charles replied, indulging his friend's pride, "But... by God... is it ever..."

Erik nodded, "Good. Were you able to find them?"

"I think so," Charles said, rubbing his temples with a faint frown, "I'm afraid I won't know for certain unless I get a chance to read Miss McGee's mind face to face... however... Mr. Malloy's signature is... unmistakable."

"Indeed," Erik said, "He's found her then? I'm not surprised. Let's not tell Quintin. I'd hate to see the boy expelled simply for doing the right thing. Do you know where they are now?"

"No," Charles admitted, "But I know where they're going..."

* * *

_Heading west..._

Jeremiah Malloy rubbed his eyes wearily as the final light of dusk disappeared over the horizon. He had no idea how long he had been driving. He had stopped once to refuel (somewhere in Iowa, he though) and had not left the road since.

He had no idea whether or not the assassins were following them. He did not want to risk using his gift while the protective shell was still in place over his passenger. If the magik faltered, Jay would need all his concentration to reactivate the spell.

Charlie was still unconscious in the seat next to Jay. He had leaned the chair back and strapped her in, hoping that if he hit any tollbooths (or got pulled over), he would be able to pass her off as simply being asleep. Though, Jay doubted any state trooper would buy that, considering the large, ugly bruise on Charlie's face or the tattered state of her clothing.

_Can't say I'm not a kidnapper_, Jay thought unhappily, _I mean, I didn't exactly have permission to pick her up, daring rescue or not. Still... better lil'ole me than the big pack of scarys..._

Jay shivered slightly as the last images of the lead assassin played in his head. Charlie had burned the guy to hell and back, but it did not seem to slow him down for long.

_And he was healing..._ Jay's mind insisted, _Healing! Don't bullshit yourself about that, Malloy. The guy looked worse than a marshmallow under a flamethrower and the son of a bitch started healing right before your cursed eyes..._

Jay realized he had been holding his breath and then exhaled noisily. Those assassins must have been involved with something in the dark world, especially if one of them had a power like that. People were not just born with some miraculous ability to heal, were they?

He glanced over at Charlie and wondered. Were her gifts artificial? Is that why the Council did not want to get involved with her situation? Was Charlie some kind of demon?

_Don't be an idiot, Malloy_, Jay chided himself, _You saw her... _SAW _her. In all her lights, did you see any kind of demon-ness in there?_

"No," Jay muttered aloud and his thoughts continued.

Right. So what else could it be? Something to do with that blind kid in your vision. Obviously he had some kind of power to get a message to you like that. What was going on in River Mead? If the Council isn't worried about Charlie being a demon, then what? What made her different than the other people recognized and protected by the Council? What made her so different than him...?

Jay muttered a few frustrated obscenities and then sighed. He was way too tired to think about this right now. He was way too tired to be doing a lot of things right now, including driving, but he had no plans to stop until he crossed the border into Nebraska...

_To be continued..._

* * *

Author's note: Okay, I've decided the next part of the story will need to be in ... well, a new story. Expect more crossovers and references from the universes I have mixed up in this little fic. I think once all is complete, it'll turn out to be a trilogy, since the events I have planned can be separated into two distinct pieces. 

Thanks again, X-Over, for the review. Expect cameos by folks from the Buffy and X-men-universes. Somewhere back in one of the chpts I wrote that Jay won't be seeing the Council again for some time...but that doesn't mean they won't be coming to find him. :)

The next fic will still predate BTVS or the X-Men movies (and the X-Book series posted here) by about 25 years. I love all this prequel and origin stuff! Look for the Stephen King references too cause that's where Charlie's from!

Thanks again to everybody who reviewed this fic! I hope everything is still making sense. Stay tuned for part two... which doesn't have a name yet... but I'm working on it :)


End file.
